Curves For Him: 10 Delicious Tales

by Aubrey Rose

  “Of course.” Eliot hadn’t even thought about it, so worried was he about her physical health. Brynn would get everything she needed to recover. He would see to it.

  “I have a friend who specializes in trauma recovery. I’ll leave you her card.”

  “Thank you.”

  The old doctor rose and snapped the buckles of his bag shut.

  “Wait,” Eliot said. “Are you leaving?”

  “She’s stable and sleeping,” Doctor Toth said, a kind smile on his face. “She’ll be fine without me.”

  “When will you come back to check on her?”

  “It really isn’t necessary,” the doctor said, but he saw the worry in Eliot’s eyes. “I’ll check in tomorrow morning just to be safe.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Make sure she gets plenty of rest. That’s all she needs now. Rest and care.”

  “Thank you, doctor, I will.” You’ve no idea how much I care. Eliot walked the doctor to the door, then returned to Brynn’s side. The kitten, Lucky, found them and jumped up on Brynn’s bed, nestling down into the covers between her ankles. No harm in that, Eliot thought, and let the little gray ball of fur remain purring at her feet.

  She woke in the middle of the night, twisting in the bed under the sheets as though she was fighting someone off. She woke Eliot with her thrashing. Lucky had already abandoned the warm covers in favor of a bed that didn’t move.

  Eliot pulled the sheets back over her body, averting his eyes in the dim light. After the hot bath, he’d had to undress her, stripping off her wet clothes. Remembering the way her body looked, naked and beautiful, made him ache with desire as well as shame. He should not have seen her, but he had. The curved lines of her hips, the pinkness of her skin... Eliot shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable with the longing, entirely too familiar, that strafed his heart whenever he saw Brynn. It was some time before he could fall back asleep at her side.

  Brynn woke up the next morning after the family doctor had already left. Eliot was dozing in the chair beside her bed, a book in his lap. He heard her stirring and leaned forward to see her eyelids flutter and open slightly.

  “Eliot?” She coughed slightly.

  “Brynn.” Eliot placed his book on the end table.

  “Where is he?” She looked around, as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. “The hunter. What happened?”

  “He’s gone. The police took him away. How do you feel?”

  Brynn coughed. “Awful.” She coughed again, clearing her throat, and looked down, then quickly pulled the covers up to her neck.

  “Eliot, I don’t have any clothes on!” Her voice sounded shocked with indignation.

  “I’m sorry, I had to... you were entirely soaked...” Eliot stammered. He hadn’t expected her to react like this.

  “Well, get me something to put on!” Brynn had the covers up to her chin, and was flushing bright red.

  Eliot brought her the underwear that had already been through the dryer, and a robe.

  “I don’t have anything too suitable for you,” he said. “But I’ll call the apartments.” He kicked himself mentally for not already having done so.

  “Have you told them? The other students?” Brynn seemed mortified.

  “No. Well, I told them that you had fallen on my property and were being looked after by my doctor,” Eliot said. “Not quite the truth.”

  “Not quite a lie,” Brynn said. Her fingers clutched the robe above the blankets. “Can you look away?”

  Eliot averted his face. When Brynn gave the okay, he turned to find her bundled in the robe, standing at the bedside.

  “The doctor said you should rest,” Eliot said.

  “I’m fine,” Brynn said, but her stance was unsteady.

  “For my sake, please, stay lying down.”

  “You have to go, don’t you?” Brynn asked. “You’re leaving.”

  “Brynn—”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she hugged her arms to her chest tightly.

  “You said you loved me,” she said. Eliot stepped over. At first he thought she would shy away from his embrace, but she leaned into his chest. Her shoulders moved only slightly as she sobbed. In his arms she felt so fragile, like a beautiful, ornate vase already broken and repaired once, ready to shatter. He could not be the one to shatter her.

  “Oh, Brynn,” Eliot said. He pressed his cheek down onto her hair, caressing her shoulders, her back. Her sobs grew quiet, slow, and then stopped altogether. When she pulled away, he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief to offer her.

  “I’m ruining all of your handkerchiefs,” Brynn said, a noise between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat as she pressed the fabric to her face. He waited until she had wiped her nose dry. She stood before him so sorrowful and proud that if he had not fallen headlong for her already he would have done so again in an instant. Her eyes shone brightly underneath a glaze of tears, her hair damp and wavy, stuck to her cheeks in places. Eliot felt the last of his resolve melt away as he looked at her.

  “I’m not leaving, Brynn,” he said. Inside his mind he heard the gates drop, letting himself open up. He took her hand in his. “Please. The doctor said that you need rest.”

  Brynn sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand trembling under his.

  “You won’t leave?”

  “No.” Eliot sighed in relief as Brynn tucked her legs up back under the blankets. She spent a few seconds arranging the pillows behind her, then leaned back.

  “Okay, see? I’m resting.”

  “I don’t see your eyes closed.”

  “Are you really staying here?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right here.”

  “Eliot?” The way she said his name sent shivers through his arms, his hands. He longed to take her up passionately and kiss every piece of her, every last beautiful part, every crease and curve. Instead he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and clasped his hands on his lap.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.” As Eliot looked up toward her another flood of tears brimmed her eyes and spilled over. She had the handkerchief to her face. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off, you said it was dangerous and I didn’t listen, I—” She choked on the last word and wiped her nose again between sobs.

  “No,” Eliot said, over and over as she talked. “No, no, no. Brynn, no. This isn’t your fault, not ever.”

  “But I—”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Listen. You did nothing wrong.”

  “If something had happened...” Brynn’s voice trailed off into an awful silence during which Eliot felt the adrenaline of anger rush through him.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Eliot said. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Brynn closed her eyes, her brows furrowed, and Eliot couldn’t bring himself to imagine what nightmares must be going through her mind.

  Silence filled the bedroom, and Eliot thought Brynn might have dozed off. But when he rose from the bed, her eyes snapped open.

  “Eliot? Can you bring me my math stuff? So I can do the problem?”

  “You really want to work on math?” Eliot raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “It will take my mind off of everything.”

  “Then we can work together,” he said. “I’ll bring your notebook.”

  “Eliot?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you staying?”

  He leaned over and caressed her forehead, his hand pressing back her hair.

  “So that I can keep working with such a brilliant mathematician.”

  “No. Really.”

  Eliot considered the question. He hadn’t thought about it, but the second he knew Brynn was in danger, it was like a switch had flipped in his mind. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but her. Any obstacle between them was only an illusion, something put there by the world to make him lose sight of what he cared about. In the middle of the night, he
had known that he would not be able to leave her side until he was sure she would be okay without him. And even then...

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Really.”

  The gate was down, his past worries forgotten. All that mattered was Brynn, right now. She looked up at him expectantly.

  “I’m staying because I love you.”

  Brynn’s mouth dropped open slightly, her pink lips parted in disbelief.

  “I’ll get you that notebook,” Eliot said. He stood and left before she could say a word.

  He loved me.

  It wasn’t a dream anymore, not another fantasy I had imagined in my head. He said that he loved me, and meant it. Air stopped moving through my chest; I had forgotten how to breathe.

  He came back with a notebook I took carefully in my hand. His eyes were kind, and despite the horror of the past day I trusted him to keep me safe. He looked at me as though he expected me to say something, but I turned my head down to the mathematics. I did not want to break the delicate bond that had stretched out between us by talking about it too much. In any case, I did not know what to say.

  We worked for an hour, and then he fixed me breakfast. As I waited for him to return, my chest tightened with fright and did not relax until he came back into the room. I could not eat very much, only a bit of bread and honey. The honey tasted sickeningly sweet in my mouth, and I gulped down water to relieve the stickiness of it.

  Tucked under Eliot’s arm was a record; he placed it on the old-fashioned player in the corner of the room.

  “I thought we could use some inspiration,” Eliot said. I closed my eyes and heard the familiar strains of the Gymnopedie amplified in the air.

  “Do you want to take a break?” Eliot sat next to me, moving my half-eaten plate to the nightstand.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, maybe just for a minute.” I put my hand over his, praying that I was not too presumptuous. My heart soared when his fingers twined themselves into mine. We rested, listening to the dissonant chords, the elongated coda, the resolution in the last few phrases.

  “Brynn.”

  “I love you too,” I said, turning my eyes down to my notebook. My heart twisted inside my chest. I had never allowed myself to hope, but Eliot was here and real and not at all a fantasy.

  “Are you reading that out of your notes?”

  “Sure am,” I said, chuckling lightly. “Right under the section on equivalence relations.”

  “Is love an equivalence relation?” Eliot put on his serious lecturer’s voice, and I could not help but laugh.

  “You tell me.”

  “What does it mean to be an equivalence relation?” Eliot asked me, leading me on.

  “It must be symmetric, transitive, and reflexive.”

  “Let’s take the first one. If love has the symmetric property...” His silence hung purposefully, and I swallowed at his meaning.

  “If I love you, then you love me.”

  Eliot’s lips turned up into a sly smile.

  “Not always true, but it is in this case. Carry on. The transitive property.”

  I only had to think for a second to find an example. “If I love you, and you love Satie, then I love Satie.”

  Eliot laughed appreciatively. “And don't you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Two of three already. And now?”

  “Now...”

  “The reflexive property.”

  I swallowed. My voice was softer than before. There was only one example possible here, and I did not know if I could bring myself to say it until I opened my mouth, turning my head back to the notes.

  "I love myself."

  “Yes?” Eliot took my hands in his; his blood pumped fast through his veins and his skin was hot on mine.

  “Yes,” I said, and for the first time in a long, long time, I really did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  “Perfect numbers, like perfect men, are very rare.” - Descartes

  Eliot insisted that Brynn take her time before getting up and about, and while she protested, he could tell that she was glad for the forced rest that day. He made her a hot tomato bisque for lunch and stayed by her side when she napped. Her dreams were fitful, and she woke up with a scream.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “The hunter! Where is he? Where is he?” Her eyes were wild.

  “Shh, Brynn, it’s alright. He’s gone, remember?” Eliot smoothed her hair with his hand and kissed her forehead.

  “He’s gone?”

  “Gone far away. You’re safe now.”

  Brynn swallowed water from the glass at her bedside table, her eyes still troubled and distant.

  “Can I do anything?” Eliot asked. Brynn shook her head and lay silent for a moment, her breathing returning to normal.

  “That book,” Brynn said finally. “The one you’re reading. It has an English title.”

  “It’s poetry,” Eliot said. She was so attentive. “It’s one of the first books I was able to read in English.”

  “Will you read me something?”

  Eliot began to object, but thought better of it. He brought the book over to her side and flipped to the last page he had been reading. Self-consciously he began to speak, but as the poem went on his voice fell into a natural speaking rhythm. Brynn closed her eyes to listen.

  “When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

  And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

  And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

  Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

  How many loved your moments of glad grace,

  And loved your beauty with love false or true,

  But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

  And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

  And bending down beside the glowing bars,

  Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

  And paced upon the mountains overhead

  And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”

  “That’s beautiful.” A tear had slipped down Brynn’s cheek, and she wiped it away with her finger. “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you.” He put his hand on hers. “Even a poorly done poetry reading.”

  “Can I ask you for something else, then?” Her voice was thin, tired. Scared, maybe.

  “What is it?”

  “Will you hold me? Here, in bed?”

  A strand of hope wound itself around Eliot’s heart: that he was not doing things entirely wrong this time, that he might do some good or be some good to her, that his guilt might be assuaged. He lay down next to Brynn and she turned into him, pulling herself tight against his chest. His mouth went dry when he felt her soft curves touch him alongside his entire body. His arms encircled her protectively, shielding her from the rest of the world.

  Brief as it was, his kiss against her forehead was meant to be kind, warm. She lifted her head and he tumbled headlong into her gaze. If he had a soul, it was burning now, set aflame by the desire he saw in her eyes.

  “Eliot?” Brynn’s hand was on his chest, her fingers toying insistently with his shirt button. She did not take her eyes away from his.

  Eliot took her hand in his, clasping it chastely. His eyes asked a question and hers answered. Answering her longing, he bent down and seized her lips against his.

  “Oh!” Brynn let out a soft moan as Eliot deepened the kiss, shifting himself toward her on the bed. He waited for her to respond, taking each step slowly, carefully, until she accepted his advances with her sighs, her fingers clutching at his arms tightly, pulling him.

  “Let me know when you want to stop, Brynn.” Eliot’s lips moved against her cheek.

  “I will.”

  “Anytime. Let me know.” Eliot did not want to hurt her, and especially not after what had happened. If he stepped over the line...he shuddered to think of the pain she had suffered through.

  “Eliot. I will.” She leaned forward and ki
ssed him, pulling him into her arms. Giving up any pretense of resistance, he pressed his body to hers. The soft curves under the robe moved against his palms, sending him into such an aroused state that for a moment he forgot to breathe.

  She broke the kiss and his heart began to beat again. He ran his fingers under the edge of her robe at the collar by her neck. Lips pursed, Brynn watched him intently as he moved his hand down along the curve of her breast, his fingertips just grazing the silhouette of her figure. Down, down to the navel, where he hit the line of her panties. He edged alongside the elastic, trailing his fingertips over her skin, and pushed back the heavy velour robe at her hip, exposing her breast and the line of her body.

  “Such wonderful curves...”

  “Eliot,” Brynn said, and he paused, looking back up at her face. There was a kind of curiosity in her face that he could tell was fighting with some doubt. In a blink of her eyelashes, though, she brushed it away.

  “I want you,” Brynn said. Eliot’s heart swelled in his chest and he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers.

  I didn’t know what I was doing, inviting Eliot into bed with me, but once he held me in his arms every misgiving that I had disappeared. His touch possessed me completely, but he went slowly, carefully, so that I was soon vibrating with anticipation. When the robe slipped off of my body, I held my breath. I was not perfect, far from it, but I wanted Eliot to see me entirely, to see every imperfect part of me. The fear of rejection, the doubt that I carried inside of me, made me tense with uncertainty, but I ached for him to take me.

  He touched me tenderly, his fingertips marking their way slowly among my curves.

  “So many beauty marks,” he said, smiling, his fingers pausing at my hip.

  “Moles,” I said, looking down at the place he had paused. “Those there form a constellation.”

  His mouth curved as he recognized the pattern from the night sky.

  “Orion?” he ventured. I nodded.

  “Are there more?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

  “We’ll have to find them all, then,” he said. He kissed me again, and I forgot all of my doubts, all of my fears. I only wanted him to stay with me forever.