Contessa

by Lori L. Otto

  “Who was she?”

  “She was of nobel descent, a woman in mourning because her brother had died. And she had all of these suitors, but she didn’t want any of them. It was a story of mistaken identities. It was kind of weird, actually, but it led to her marriage to a man named Sebastian.

  “He’s confused by her strange proposal, and can’t really believe she wants him. So, he says that to her. If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.”

  “What?” I say softly. “You can’t believe I want to be with you?”

  “Sometimes, no,” he answers. “I mean, you could have anyone, Livvy.”

  “I highly doubt that. You were the only guy to ask me out.”

  “Probably because everyone else is intimidated by you, or your family.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I got to know a different person than most of the world. You were never guarded with me. You were always one-hundred-percent in your element. You always said what you felt. You never cared if people didn’t like what you did. You have such strong convictions, and I love that about you. I feel like I know you, I don’t know... deeper, better than other people do. Does that make sense?”

  I simply nod my head when he turns around once more to wait for my answer.

  “I can’t be like this around other people, though,” I admit to him. “You make me feel more comfortable–more like myself.”

  “Well, then I’m happy it’s me that can bring that out of you.”

  “Me, too.” I lean in slowly and kiss the word dream on his back. I move my lips to press against the word sleep.

  “I envisioned you doing that at some point, Livvy, but I never thought it would feel like that.”

  I sit up on my knees as I move the blanket aside, kissing the tattoo a few more times, and then kissing the side of his neck. He shifts to his knees and turns around, kissing me slowly, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

  His fingers press into my back firmly while mine explore his smooth skin. My left hand keeps wandering to the quote on his back. My right one can’t bring him close enough to me.

  His firm grasp supporting me, he begins to lay me back against the pillows on the floor. His legs on the left side of my body, he hovers over me, continuing our kiss. His biceps are strong, and keep his body at a distance from mine. I make sure my skirt is straightened out, then lightly scratch his sides with my fingernails.

  He shivers away, sitting back up.

  “Did that tickle?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he whispers, his gaze locked on mine. He puts his left hand on my right hipbone tentatively, grasping the fabric of my skirt in his fingers and scrunching it in his fist. His eyes break away, focusing on the actions of his hand. He stares at it, contemplative, and sighs. He kneels back on his ankles, dragging his fingers down my leg until they’re touching the bare skin of my knee. I study his expression, trying to anticipate his next move.

  “Olivia,” he whispers as he unzips my right boot and takes it off.

  “Yes?”

  “Does anyone actually call you that?”

  “Not really.”

  “Can I?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. It seems so adult, or something.”

  “Exactly. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re the woman I want to be with. And I like the way it sounds. I love you, Olivia.” We both smile at one another as he takes off my other boot. “Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”

  I nod, propping myself up on my elbows. He leans back over, dragging his hand down to the back of my knee and pulling it toward him. After he kicks off his shoes, he positions his left leg between mine and settles slowly on my body as I lie back down. His hand travels up my leg slowly, stopping midway up my thigh under my skirt.

  “Is this okay?”

  “I’m not ready to have sex,” I tell him quickly, aware that I may be spoiling the mood.

  “I’m not going to try to have sex with you, Olivia. Not tonight.”

  I bite my lip, thinking about how much I care about him and how much I want to experience things with him. “I love you, Jon. And yes, this is okay.”

  A corner of his lip lifts slightly, and he puts his right arm beneath my neck, enveloping me in his embrace. He unbuttons my sweater and pulls it back, revealing the shirt underneath. He untucks it from my skirt, and I’m afraid he’ll have to unfasten this one, too, to give my heart the room it needs to pound so forcefully in anticipation.

  He doesn’t, though. As our kiss continues, his left hand lightly touches the right side of my body, starting at my hip and moving up slowly, over the shirt. He stops just above my ribcage and his thumb barely grazes the side of my breast. My breath catches in my throat, my body alive with feelings I’ve never felt before.

  “It’s okay,” he says as he moves his lips to my ear.

  “Wow,” I sigh, acutely aware of every wonderful sensation. I can hear him laugh quietly before he lifts his head up to look me in the eyes. He drags his hand back down to the hemline of my shirt and lifts it slightly, exposing my midriff. His finger circles my navel as his attention shifts to my torso. He props himself up again, carefully laying my head back down on the pillow. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes, and I run my fingers through it, holding the longer strands back so I can see his expression. He looks reverent.

  He glances back at me and kisses me once more, then moves my hair off of my neck and presses his lips there. He repeats the motion, moving closer toward my collarbone and then to the necklace that was tucked beneath the shirt. He unbuttons the top button only to kiss the medallion three times. Then he refastens my shirt. He moves toward my stomach, and I can feel the wet warmth of his tongue against my belly as he kisses my skin fully. He does this on both sides of my navel.

  Needy, I pull his head back up to mine and he welcomes my thirsting lips on his. I scrape his back with my fingernails, which elicits a sharp intake of air that hisses through Jon’s teeth.

  “That feels incredible,” he encourages me. I continue, hoping he feels as good as I do. His elbows on either side of me, I pull at his body to align with mine. I can feel him fighting me, but eventually he moves his other leg between mine. He settles his body down on mine slowly.

  Too slowly. I hold him close to me, wanting more. The part of me that thinks I’m not ready seems to be losing this internal struggle, and I choose to keep my rational self out of this decision. I move against him tentatively and am surprised by the feeling. I like how he feels against me. I do it again.

  “Oh, god, Olivia,” Jon breathes.

  “I know,” I respond quickly. “Don’t stop.”

  He pulls back, his expression curious. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t want to have sex. I don’t think I do, yet,” I tell him. “But this feels... um, wow.”

  “You sure?”

  “I think so,” I tell him with a laugh. “I’m sure.”

  He moves against me tentatively, watching my expression. “Tell me how it feels.”

  “I really don’t think I have words,” I admit, my hands moving to his waist to help guide him. His fingers wrap around my right thigh and pull my leg up, allowing him to press against me with more force. My breathing quickens.

  “Try.”

  “I can’t,” I tell him between breaths, pulling his head to mine to kiss me. I’ve never needed him as much as I need him now. I have to turn my head away to take a breath, and I realize I can’t fill my lungs. It’s not oxygen my body needs. It’s Jon. I gasp repeatedly, as dictated by my desire for him. The feeling overwhelms me, consumes me, and a cry escapes the back of my throat, one like I’ve never heard before. Embarrassed, I pull his lips to mine again to try to hide any more outbursts, but the sounds continue. I have no control anymore. I stop fighting it. As my body begins to shake with pleasure, Jon tries to hold me still, holds his body closely next to mine. He wraps his arms around me. When
the cries turn back into soft breaths, he kisses my temple, my cheek, and after he’s sure I can breathe again, my lips. I hold his head to mine, never wanting him to leave me.

  “How are you?” he whispers to me, moving to my side. Feeling lightheaded, I sidle up next to him, my head on his shoulder with one arm and one leg splayed across his body.

  “That was awesome,” I laugh.

  “Have you ever...” He pauses to move a mess of hair out of my face. I lean up to kiss him once and lie back down, tracing invisible shapes on his chest. “Have you ever felt anything like that before?”

  “Never,” I admit to him. “Wow. I’m not even sure how I could describe that feeling.”

  “I think you just had an orgasm.” My hand stills as I process this. I can feel my cheeks heat up quickly. He wraps his fingers around mine. “You know that, right?”

  “Ummm.” I hesitate as I wonder whether or not I should lie to him. I should have figured that out, but I didn’t realize that’s what was going on. “We didn’t have sex, though.”

  “You don’t have to have sex to have an orgasm. Well, girls don’t. For guys, it’s a little more difficult without–I won’t go into detail.”

  “So you didn’t have one, too?”

  “No.” He laughs and runs his fingers up and down my back, comforting me. “We’d have to go a lot further for that to happen.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It’s not about being fair, Liv. I thoroughly enjoyed that. Trust me.”

  “Did it feel good to you, too?”

  “Of course it did.”

  “As good as having sex?”

  He considers his response for a minute or two. “Sharing that with you was like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but actually having sex with you will be exponentially better, I’m sure.

  “It might even be exponentially better for you, too,” he adds.

  “I don’t know how that would be possible.”

  “That sounds like a challenge,” he says suggestively.

  “What can I do for you? Tonight?” I ask him.

  “How are you at back massages?”

  “I have no idea,” I tell him. “You’d be my first, but I’ll give it a try.”

  “Awesome,” he says as he rolls over and tucks a pillow under his chest. Kneeling beside him, I start to press my fingers into his back. “It might be easier if you kneel over me? Then you can put your whole body into it.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, suddenly nervous. I settle myself against his lower back and put my hands on his shoulders, kneading.

  “Use your palms,” he says. “Just lean into it and press the weight of your body into it.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you!” I laugh.

  “You won’t. I’ll let you know if you do, but you won’t.” I take his advice and move my hands to the middle of his back and push the entire weight of my body into the massage. He moans softly.

  “See, that hurt, right?”

  “No, it feels amazing. Keep going.” I press my hands against the middle of his back, moving down, up and back down again. He’s resting his head on his arms, his eyes closed.

  “Are you asleep?” I whisper.

  “No,” he mumbles. “Just enjoying this.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Just you.” I smile at his answer and move my hands up to his shoulders. I rub his left one first, then move over to the right, reading the statement that’s permanently emblazoned on his back. I trace each letter with my finger before leaning into him and kissing it once more. He sighs beneath me.

  “Do you have any regrets about it?” I ask him.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “But it’s, like, permanent.” This fact seeps in. He will wear that forever.

  “That was the point.” My pulse quickens at his response, which excites me and freaks me out, all at the same time. I don’t know how he can be so sure about me. I wonder if he’s even considered the prospect that maybe we won’t work out.

  “But what are you going to tell all of your future girlfriends about it?”

  “Well, I’ve decided I can only date women named Olivia from now on. That’s an easy solution. I’ve never met an Olivia I didn’t like.”

  “And how many have you met?” I ask him, knowing that my name isn’t too common.

  “Just one.” He peeks out at me from the corner of his eyes with a mischievous smile across his lips. He starts to roll onto his back beneath me, but as I start to move off of him, he catches my hips and keeps me there, helping to settle me back down against him. He puts his hands on my knees, scratching my legs playfully. “Honestly, I hope I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. That story was for you, and only you.”

  His eyes pierce directly into mine, through me, into my soul. “I’m not looking to have any other girlfriends, Olivia.” I bite my lip and nod at him, fully understanding his devotion for possibly the first time. He takes my hands in his. “Does that scare you?”

  “A little, yeah,” I say shyly.

  “That’s probably good. Then you know I’m serious about you.”

  “I just don’t know how you’re so sure.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I just–” I start, not sure what to say. “I don’t want to get hurt. And you have the power to do that.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Olivia.”

  “Yeah, but supposedly guys will say anything to get a girl to have sex with them.”

  “I hate those guys. I’m not one of those guys. I hope you know that.”

  “I hear you saying that, yeah, but in the end, they’re just words, right? I could tell you that you’re the dumbest guy in the world right now, and you and I both know that would be a lie. But I could still say it. I could even still believe it.”

  “You’re right. They’re just words until I can truly show you how much I care about you. I got the tattoo to show you that I’m here to stay. I mean, it’s permanent. It will be a part of me until the day I die. I kind of hope you’re with me, too.”

  “If you could show me, how would you?”

  He sits up and crosses his legs, arranging me in his lap. I wrap my legs around him for balance, but like the way it feels. He puts one of his arms around my waist. I keep my hands folded in front of me, pressed between our bodies.

  He picks my left hand up and kisses my ring finger. Suddenly distracted, he points out the paint stains again. “Why do you like these?”

  “They just remind me of someone,” I tell him honestly. He looks at me, curious. “Not like that,” I laugh. “Just someone I admire.”

  “Oh,” he says, still not convinced.

  “You were going to tell me something. If you could show me, what would you do?” I remind him of my question, his lips inches from mine.

  “I’d stand with you at an altar, in front of all of our families and friends. I’d promise you everything I had to give you, and I’d hope that it was enough to keep you happy, forever. I’d place a ring on your finger, and I’d let you place one on mine. And I’d kiss you. And it would be the best kiss of your life. You’d be dizzy when we were finished, only we wouldn’t be finished.

  “I’d carry you back down that aisle, to the sound of applause from everyone who knows us. If ever they had doubts, they’d know from this wedding that true love lives and breathes and thrives and grows in you and me.

  “When we’d reach the end of the aisle, I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep going. I’d carry you to the car, to the plane, to the boat, to the ends of the earth, Olivia. I would lay you down on a bed so soft, you’d get lost in the billowing blankets, but I’d find you, and I’d kiss you again, and I wouldn’t stop. And I’d keep going.

  “I would make love to you.” I duck my head into his shoulder, blushing. He lets go of his grasp and puts his fingers under my chin, directing me to look into his eyes. “I would make love to you all night and well into the next day, because I know I could never get
enough of you. I’d make sure all of your wishes for our first night together were completely fulfilled. I wouldn’t leave anything out. Anything you wanted, Olivia, I would give you.”

  “You’d wait to be married?” I ask him.

  A small smile spreads across his lips. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

  “I don’t think I want to wait.”

  His smile grows. “Then I’d rearrange the order of my plans a bit... but I wouldn’t leave a single step out.”

  This makes me beam. “You really think you want to marry me?”

  “No,” he says. “I know I do.”

  “And you’re sure I feel the same?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I know I’ve never felt this way about anyone else,” I tell him honestly. “It just seems too good to be true sometimes.”

  “I do?”

  “No, the situation does. I mean, I just can’t figure out how you’re so certain.”

  “Okay, remember when I told you that everything I’ve done so far in my life has been to get into Columbia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that was a lie. Sort of. Everything I’ve done up until this point has been to get into Columbia and to get you to fall in love with me. I thought one might be the means to get the other.”

  “You don’t have to go to Columbia to get me to love you.”

  “Well, then maybe you loving me will get me into Columbia.”

  “I have power, but I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “You’re wrong. The promise of you ending up with me has made me want to be the best man you can be with. I don’t want you to wake up later in life and think, ‘We were just kids. He didn’t turn out to be the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.’ I want to become that man.”

  “But I don’t need an Ivy League guy. My dad may want that for me–”

  “And if anyone has your best interests at heart right now, Liv, it’s him. I trust him.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t put so much stock into what he thinks. He doesn’t even know me.”

  “I don’t know why you think that. I miss my father so much. I feel like you take your dad for granted. If he weren’t around, you’d miss him. You know you would.”