by Sienna Parks
I place my hands over hers. “Don’t make me hate myself more than I already do.” I pull her hands from their sweet caress of my tense jaw, and watch her as she crumples into her seat, trying to calm herself, fighting the tears that are threatening to fall.
An unwelcome interruption comes in the form of the stewardess hovering by my side.
“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Fitzgerald?”
“Yes. A Scotch neat.” She turns to leave and it exasperates me even further. “Miss de Rossi would like a glass of Prosecco. Thank you for asking. Your customer service skills are somewhat lacking.” She shoots me daggers before scurrying off to get our drinks. Why would she think it’s okay not to offer Vittoria a drink? It’s her fucking job. Just because she thought she was going to get the pleasure of sucking my cock on this flight, doesn’t mean she gets to treat my impromptu travelling companion with disdain. I could see it in her eyes the moment I set foot inside the cabin. She devoured every inch of me with her greedy little eyes; licking her lips suggestively as her eyes came to rest on my crotch. Truth be told, after the run in with my mother, I might have given her a second glance if Vittoria hadn’t shown up, if for no other reason than to take my mind off of my pathetic life.
The reality of my situation is that Vittoria is here, and no other woman on earth even registers on my radar. There is only her. She is my Eve; the first and only woman in my world. I try so hard to forget her, but it’s impossible. She has infiltrated every fiber of my being, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone treat her badly. It’s hard enough to watch her hurting because of my actions.
She lets out a small sob, and without a thought for the consequences I lift her up out of her seat, and into my lap, where she breaks down, quietly letting out all of the hurt and confusion that I caused. She feels so small and fragile, curled up like a frightened kitten, and all I want to do... is love her.
“Please, don’t cry. My heart can’t take it. I’m doing this for you. Trust me. You’re too good for me, and I only want what’s best for you.”
“You’re what’s best for me. I feel it in every touch of your hand; in the way you speak; the way you look at me. I feel it in the way my body responds to you. You are exactly what I need. Everything about you calls to me. Why can’t you see that?” Her voice is no more than a whisper.
I pull her closer, hold her tighter, trying like hell to calm the tirade of emotions raging inside of me.
When our drinks arrive, I down my Scotch and request another, but before I finish my sentence, Vittoria hands her empty glass to the stewardess and moves back down to rest her head on my chest. Under normal circumstances I would chastise her for drinking so quickly, but I have no right to ask anything of her. I just thank my lucky stars that she remains in my lap, letting me soothe her. I slowly trace the lines of her back, listening to her breathing as it evens out and she drifts off. I think it’s probably a mixture of emotional exhaustion and alcohol rather than her being physically tired. Whatever the reason, I revel in it.
I sit for hours; a continuous stream of Scotch being brought to me as I sit clinging to Vittoria; listening to her shallow breaths; loving the warmth of her body against my own. I’ve been rock-hard in my pants for the past three hours while she’s slept soundly, but I don’t care. The physical discomfort is nothing in comparison to the elation that her presence sparks in me. For the first time in a year, I feel.
I can’t resist her, and gently slip my hand underneath her sweater, my palm pressed against the naked flesh of her back, causing a shiver to run down my spine as I feel hers flex beneath my fingers. She lifts her sleepy eyes to mine, her lips, full and sleep swollen. She is breathtaking. I can only imagine what she looks like first thing in the morning; sex-mussed hair, naked, and tangled in the sheets. My dick twitches beneath her and I know she feels it. Her gaze darts between my eyes and my lips as she licks her own, making them even more enticing. Just one kiss, one lick, one nibble of her perfect pout. I want it so badly, I would sell my soul for one more taste, but I’ve already caused her so much pain through my own selfish desires. She is a shell of the woman who offered herself to me in Verona, who fought for me in her brother’s living room. A shadow of the woman that walked out of my apartment a year ago.
Her scent surrounds me, her breath warm and sweet on my face as she moves closer, our lips just millimeters apart when I speak. “I want to kiss you so badly, Vittoria. Every inch of my body is screaming at me to do it.”
Her words are a sweet caress. “Then do it.”
I cup her face in my hands. “I can’t.” I rest my forehead against hers in defeat. “I just can’t. Ending things with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Knowing that I was doing the right thing for you, but the worst thing imaginable for me. I couldn’t do it again.”
“Then don’t. Be with me.” My body sags under the intense pressure I feel in this moment; to do the right thing by her. I know she feels it, because she pulls away from me, extricating herself from my lap and moving back into her seat.
“Maybe I should go and find my seat back in coach.”
I grasp her hand firmly in mine. “Don’t. I want you here. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Stay. Tell me about your life, work, anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
She gives me a small, but genuine smile. “Okay.”
We spend the rest of the flight talking about our lives, and it feels so normal. The tension between us is still thick in the air, but I’d tolerate any level of discomfort just to be around her, to hear her sultry voice caress my senses. I’m transfixed, enthralled, obsessed with every detail that she offers me.
I in turn tell her about the band that I’m working with, what it means for my company, what I aspire to in the future. It’s uncharacteristic for me to open up, but with her it just feels natural, and I find myself telling her about my run in with my mom in the airport.
“God, Logan. No wonder you were on edge when I first saw you. I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but Carter told me that your relationship with her is tumultuous at best. I figured it made sense, considering that you’ve spent almost every family holiday at our house since I met you.” She gives me a sympathetic smile, which I would curse from anyone else, but from her it’s a comfort I’ve never felt before.
“Your powers of deduction are spot on, Sherlock. I won’t bore you with the details, but a summation of my relationship with my mother would be that she blames me for loving her too much. All I ever tried to do was protect her, from herself, from her decisions. She blames me for her life not turning out the way she wanted, and she never lets me forget it. These days, we tolerate each other when we have to, which isn’t very often.”
“I’m so sorry. That must be hard. I know that you would only ever have been looking out for her. It’s who you are. What about your dad?”
“The less said about that deadbeat, the better.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“We’re done talking about him. I mean it. I’m not going to waste any more time and energy on him in this lifetime.” She slinks into my side, resting her head on my shoulder, giving me solace in the silence between us. We stay like this for the remainder of the flight; Vittoria drifting in and out of sleep as our time together fades away; our approach to Heathrow Airport getting closer with every minute.
As we touch down in London and disembark, I feel my chest tighten. My time with her has been so fleeting. I don’t want to leave her.
We work our way through security and toward the departure gates, relishing each moment we have together; our imminent departure to connecting flights hanging heavy in the air between us. I guide her toward the international departure gates, my hand on the base of her back; my skin burning from the contact. I can’t even wait with her. I need to go to the domestic flights departure lounge. I should have been there ten minutes ago, but I just can’t tear myself away from her.
When I can’t go any further
I stop dead, unable to let go of her hand. We haven’t spoken since we stepped off the plane, but it doesn’t seem necessary. The draw I feel in her proximity is crackling between us; a physical force that we can’t ignore. Electricity courses through every cell in my body as she turns to face me.
“I guess this is where we say goodbye then. Prague awaits.” I have no words. I just stand and stare at her, entranced by her effortless beauty. “When will you be back in New York?” She snaps me out of my reverie.
“A week. I’m only in Edinburgh for a week. You? How long is this tour?” I don’t know why I’m desperate to hear her answer. I know I need to stay away from her, but I also need to know that she’s close by. To know where she is in the world.
“Three weeks. I’ll be back in New York for a week before I set off again. Doing a stint around the States, so at least I won’t be halfway across the planet. Maybe we could meet up when I’m back in town?” She looks at me expectantly.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
She steps closer, her breasts brushing against me as she drops my hand and snakes her arms around my neck. This is the Vittoria from Verona, the girl I fell even more deeply in love with. Her quiet confidence has returned. She stands on her tiptoes, her lips almost touching mine, tormenting me as her breath caresses me. “Tell me it’s not a good idea. Tell me you don’t feel this; that you don’t feel how explosive it is between us when we’re together. Tell me you don’t want me; that you don’t feel anything more than friendship for me and I’ll never bring it up again. But don’t lie to me, Logan. I can feel your heartbeat against my breasts. It’s racing, just like mine. I can feel your dick straining against your pants, hard against my thigh… go on… tell me you don’t want me.”
“Jesus Christ. Why do you push me?” I bite down hard on my lip, tasting blood, trying to no avail, to hold in the words I know are about to trip out of my mouth. “You already know.”
“Know what? Tell me.” I grab her face in my hands, searching it for a way out, for a reason not to say it, but I have to. I can’t keep it in any longer. I’ve waited nine years to say it.
“I’m in love with you, Vittoria. Never doubt it.” I crash my lips down on hers, exploring, pillaging, taking, giving, wanting. She tastes even better than I remember. She gives me everything, melting into my arms, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me closer. Her tongue strokes mine, teasing me, torturing me. It’s a sweet kind of agony.
It takes every ounce of strength I have to break this kiss, this connection between us.
“I need to go. You need to go. This has to end here, Vittoria. It’s what’s best for you, and I will always do what is best for you.” I steal one last kiss. “I love you. You are my Nyx. No one will ever compare to you.”
It breaks my heart as I turn and walk away from her, forcing myself not to look back, and that’s when I hear it. It’s barely a whisper through the crowded airport, but it hits me like a freight train.
“I love you, too… Master Fitzgerald.”
I whip my head around to see her striding through the gate, her back to me. “Vittoria…” She doesn’t falter. She simply turns her head and locks her gaze with mine, placing her hands behind her back, clasped at the wrist in a submissive position. She nods her head in acknowledgement, before dropping her gaze to the floor and walking out of my line of sight.
“FUCK!” She knows about me. What have I done?
My mind is reeling as I’m left standing, staring at the spot where she stood. My world has just shifted on its axis… completely fucking stopped.
Why do I feel like my life is becoming a series of moments where I find myself walking away from Vittoria de Rossi?
I hate that I show weakness around him. I’ve never shown that side of myself to anyone before. I shut that part off so many years ago, I didn’t even know I was capable of it. He brings something to the surface, a vulnerability that I have long suppressed. I can’t explain it, or rationalize it, I simply have to survive it.
Logan has made it clear in his words that we can never be together… but his body tells an altogether different story. I’m not usually the predator when it comes to men, I’m the exact opposite. I’m a submissive for God’s sake. I know everything there is to know about Logan Fitzgerald. Music mogul, best friend to my big brother, man of honor, and a Master Dominant. He is everything that I crave in a partner, and yet I find myself going against everything that I stand for when it comes to him.
I have thrown myself at him, forced him into a position where he can’t ignore me, which I know is not something that he finds attractive, but I can’t help myself. I want him. He makes me feel and act in ways that I have never even contemplated before; that I don’t understand. When I’m around him I don’t think, I can only feel.
When he told me he loved me at the airport, I snapped. I hadn’t planned on letting him know that I’m aware of his… extracurricular activities. I had a plan for talking to him about it, for telling him about my own predisposition, and now I’ve really thrown the cat amongst the pigeons. There was a reason he never told me when we were together, and I respected his decision. I wanted to carefully broach the subject with him when the time was right, but I never got the chance. The look on his face when I called him Master, was so pained, so wounded. I wish I could take it back.
Now, I’m in Prague, he’s in Edinburgh, and it’s been three days since I left him in London.
I’ve replayed all of our interactions over and over in my mind, looking for a hint… anything that could help me figure out my next move. I can’t sleep and I can’t concentrate. The only time I can ever really block him out is when I’m on stage. It’s the only time that I can truly let go of everything in my life, in my head. I can escape, I can be free of the shackles that bind me. I can… fly… soar… be anything I want to be. Even rehearsals have been a bust these past few days. My dance partner Luca has been on my back about my lack of focus.
I sprained my ankle today, and with a performance tonight, it’s something I could have done without. They wanted to put my understudy on, but I got the doctor that travels with us to give me an injection and strap it well enough that I can power through. Being a ballet dancer is all about dancing through the pain, and this is no different. I’m just annoyed at myself for letting Logan get to me so badly that it’s affecting the one thing that has grounded me all these years.
When everything happened with Marcus, I never thought I would feel again. I shut down completely. Carter was the only person that I could let in. I don’t know if it’s because he found me that day, or because he was already the person I trusted most in the world. Whatever the reason, he was my lifeline. He sat with me night after night, holding me, protecting me, telling me that it was going to get better, and little by little, it did.
I began to channel all of the feelings I couldn’t deal with, focusing them on a single task – to become a prima ballerina. I started dancing when I was four years old. It was always inside of me; that desire to dance. But when I truly focused all my energy, it transformed into something different. Something that went far beyond a love of dance, or a yearning to succeed. It became the air in my lungs; the blood pumping through my veins; the very reason for my existence.
It’s a tradition, or maybe a superstition of mine before a performance, to have a long hot bath in my hotel room. I let the steam rise around me, the bubbles surround me, and I let myself drift off into a calm space, where I can mentally run through all the choreography for the evening ahead.
Tonight, as I lie naked in the burning hot water, my ankle is soothed, but my mind is still unsettled, filled with thoughts of my last encounter with Logan.
He said he loves me.
That has to mean something. Surely. But, why did he say it when he doesn’t want to be with me?
I’m going to drive myself crazy if I keep playing these questions on a loop in my head, and so I do the only thing that seems to be a solution to my problem in thi
s moment. I pick up my phone from the side of the bath, shut off the music I have playing, and pull up Logan’s contact details. My finger hovers over the call button for what feels like an eternity before I chicken out and open the message app. I think better of it at least five times before I finally type a short message.
Me: Why did you say you love me?
The moment I hit send, I regret it, but I don’t have long to ponder my mistake. I’m startled by the sound of my phone beeping with an incoming message within seconds.
Logan: Because I do.
My heart soars and crashes inside of my chest as I quickly type my reply.
Me: Then why don’t you want to be with me?
Logan: I do want to be with you…
Me: Why do you keep pushing me away?
Logan: It’s better this way.
Me: For who? You?
Logan: For you. Always for you.
I don’t know how to respond to that, and I don’t have to when my phone beeps again.
Logan: How do you know about me?
Me: We have mutual friends.
Logan: My friends would never divulge my private business to anyone outside the lifestyle.
Me: Exactly.
It takes him a few minutes to respond as I wait impatiently, tapping my fingers on the side of the bathtub.
Logan: What are you saying?
Me: You know what I’m saying. You just don’t want to admit it.
Logan: It can’t be true. I would know.
Me: I’ve gone to great lengths to keep this a secret.
Logan: Then why are you telling me? Why now?
Me: Because you said you love me. That you want me.
It’s an agonizing wait for his reply. What can only be minutes, feels like hours.
Logan: Don’t you have a show tonight?
I can’t believe that’s his response.
Me: Yes.
I’m hurt that yet again I’m putting myself out there, and he’s pulling away from me.
