After each bite, Eagan grips the back of my neck and leans toward me to stroke his tongue across my lips. When I moan and open my mouth, however, he pulls away. I groan in protest and his eyes glitter mischievously in response.
Later, we walk down Via dei Fori Imperiali. The long road roughly cuts the Roman Imperial Forums in two; Benito Mussolini, the dictator, designed it. It was meant to be his expensive catwalk, to parade and celebrate his army.
Now it's a busy street that connects Piazza Venezia to the Colosseum. As we stroll, I force myself to forget about that despicable architect that created it and I concentrate on the art surrounding me. Wherever I turn, I glimpse a glorious past; even if it's scattered amidst the remains of buildings and columns, that resemble stone limbs of broken soldiers.
As we amble, our hands clasped, I think about the email I should have sent to professor Tessitori and about the deadline I've missed. Then I come to a decision. I don't want to go to Berlin, not now that I have Eagan back in my life. I will find a simple subject for my final paper, something that doesn't need the supervision of a fancy professor, who teaches in Berlin.
I squeeze Eagan's fingers to capture his attention. Then I tell him about my choice. His reaction doesn't really surprise me. He wants me to go, of course, because it's a great opportunity, and because Berlin is vital and vibrant. And it is not far. He will fly to me every weekend. Our relationship is strong. I don't have to worry.
I smile. I nod. I pretend to agree with him.
We scribble the email for professor Tessitori on his phone; we tell her that I'm planning to write about Italian films in the time of the two World Wars. It's still a wide topic, yet it's better than complete silence. But it's Eagan's idea, not mine. While he talks and creates, all I do is repeat, “Yes, Eagan.” The moment we send the email, hurt burns a path from my chest down to my stomach.
I try to ignore the pain. I hold on to Eagan and I focus on the pleasures awaiting me.
As the door closes behind us, we reach for one another. Our lips touch and melt, our tongues tangle, our hands stroke and fondle.
Darkness envelops us and amplifies our sounds of pleasure, along with the swishing of our clothed bodies, grazing and shifting in a sort of maddening dance.
Lust is our music.
We toe off our snickers, we unzip, we strip, until we find naked and warm skin, then we groan with relief.
We stumble against tables, chairs and my luggage, but our frenzied limbs barely mind.
When we reach the bathroom, we are naked. And then everything ceases.
Eagan brushes tender kisses across my face, then he moves away from me to switch on the light. For a long moment I float in a sort of confused haze, my skin still vibrating. The sound of sloshing water drags me back to reality.
I stare at Eagan as he pours my lemon-scented body-wash and then his cinnamon-scented one into the bathtub; firm muscles rippling, thick and veined shaft, heavy testicles. He's aroused. And he's magnificent. I steady myself against the cool tiles. Our mingled fragrances rise in a steamy cloud from the tub and invade the bathroom, regardless my skin is cold. I link my arms around my middle and I shiver.
Eagan notices and wraps me in his embrace.
“It's almost ready,” he says.
His erection twitches against my belly.
“I really admire your self-control,” I mumble.
He chuckles and nuzzles my hair. “Life must be savored, not rushed.”
He turns off the faucet and helps me step into the hot water, then he follows and sits behind me; his body and his strong legs cradle me, as I lie back and rest my head against his shoulder. My long tresses float around me like wisps of dark smoke.
For a while we just let our limbs ease into the scented heat. Then Eagan's hands cup my breasts and squeeze them gently. I whimper and writhe, but I don't close my eyes, for I'm mesmerized by the image of my breasts surrounded by soft foam and his strong hands.
Eagan teases my puckered nipples with the pad of his thumbs until I cry out his name. Then he traces the line of my jaw with his lips and tongue, soothing my senses for a brief moment.
He doesn't let my arousal fade, though, for his right hand leaves my chest to caress my navel and then my mound.
“Open for me,” he whispers, as he nibbles at my earlobe.
I drape my legs over his, and he murmurs his approval against the delicate shell of my ear.
His fingers delve into my intimate folds and stroke my clitoris. My hips rock greedily. My bucking creates soapy waves around us.
“Come,” he demands, as he pinches my swollen nub of flesh between forefinger and thumb.
My wail reverberates off the walls.
I let go.
Eagan folds a fluffy, yellow towel around our wet bodies. We embrace and rock gently. I float on a cloud that smells of cinnamon.
Then Eagan seizes the back of my neck and tilts my face upward to receive his kiss. His lips stroke tenderly across mine at first, then his tongue probes and seeks entrance, and the kiss turns more demanding.
I need to touch him and feel his muscles shudder under my hands, but Eagan has other plans. Once again, he breaks our kiss and he steps away from me.
The towel slides to the floor. Eagan grasps my shoulders and turns my trembling body toward the sink.
“Brace yourself. I want to taste you.” His voice is a husky rumble.
With urgent motions, he nudges my legs apart with his knee, then he chafes his shaft along my mound and groans my name.
I grip the sink and bow my head, letting my hair fall over; it creates a silky curtain around my face. I stare at the white porcelain, feeling suddenly shy.
Eagan nuzzles my nape. He presses his body against my back and curls his arms around my waist.
“I love you, Brina. You smell like lemon and pine trees. And your skin is as soft as flower petals,” he rasps out.
I smile, remembering his phone-call; he was really trying to seduce me, it wasn't just my wistful imagination. I glance up at my reflection and I picture myself as a flower with white and inky petals, dotted with raindrops after a storm. Eagan's strong arms wrapped around me, are like ropy branches of a tree, shielding me from the elements.
I have to close my eyes once more, for the pleasure Eagan is bestowing upon my senses is overwhelming. He kisses and tongues his way down my spine. My back arches and my lips part in a silent cry.
Then Eagan's body shifts. I force my eyes to open and I turn slightly. He's kneeling behind me and he's brushing his hands along my behind. He kneads my cheeks, then he parts them delicately. When his tongue soothes over my small entrance, my limbs tense.
Our eyes meet and hold.
“Trust me, kitty-cat.” His warm breath gusts along the roused skin.
He whispers kisses across the small of my back until my muscles relax. My gaze returns to the white porcelain of the sink..
Then, once again, Eagan's tongue touches the responsive rosette; I feel it swell and tingle. It's a dark and unexpected sort of pleasure. My body squirms and my inner muscles spasm around nothing. My clitoris throbs painfully. I grip the edge of the sink with such force, that my fingers hurt.
Within the silent walls of the bathroom, Eagan's mouth produces sweet, suckling noises that mingle with my mewls. Our joined sounds, along with the scent of arousal, push my desire higher still.
“Eagan. Please.” My voice is a desperate moan.
Eagan slides his hands up and down my legs. His caresses both calm me and arouse me.
All of a sudden, he pushes one, then two fingers inside me from behind, grazing a sensitive and secret spot over and over again. He ignites a rush of pleasure so strong, that it robs me of all my endurance.
I fall. He catches me.
We stumble and fall onto the king-sized bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing, fondling, grinding.
Eagan rolls on top of me and cups my face in his palms. He stares down at me with smoky eyes and an expression filled with desir
e and tenderness, but also sadness.
“What is it?” I breathe.
My skin is still humming with lust. I rub my groin against his penis and I tremble when I feel his erection pulse.
“Stop,” he says.
I obey, reluctantly. “Eagan?”
“Are you back on the pill?”
I exhale in relief, for I begin to understand his behavior.
“Yes.”
“Good. I need to feel you all over me,” he murmurs.
He brushes a reverent kiss across my lips, then he rests his forehead against mine. Our strained breaths join and merge.
“I haven't been with anyone since-”
“Eagan, it's fine,” I cut in. “I trust you.” My voice is fierce.
My body and my heart crave him urgently. I can't wait any longer. I rain rash kisses all over his handsome face.
“I'm yours,” I assure him.
“I needed you. After David's death. I needed you.” His tone is low, but it's as sharp as a knife.
I freeze. Suddenly the soft glow in my chest turns into an icy fist.
“I'm sorr-”
“Hush,” he requires. “Listen to me. I was so mad at you. What was happening was bigger than us. Death is bigger than a kiss.”
Tears sting my eyes. I try to blink them away.
“I wanted to run after you. I really did. But I was so angry,” Eagan continues. “Then the pain became more bearable. And I just missed you. I wanted your arms around me. I wanted your kiss.”
As I stare into his eyes, I see a storm; so many conflicting emotions fight for supremacy. Finally, love wins. I wind my arms around his strong neck and I draw him to me.
Eagan buries his face against my breasts and nuzzles into my tender skin. His breathing is ragged.
I caress his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, eliciting soft sounds of contentment from him.
I picture him mourning David alone, his parents working abroad and me, his best friend, his family, hiding and running away from him. The icy fist gripping my tender heart squeezes it, until it shutters into million tiny pieces that slice my insides. I bleed for my friend, my lover. I need him to bury his ache inside me. I can take it.
I cup my breast in my palm and I offer it to him. I tease his lips with my nipple. For a few, painful seconds nothing happens. Then Eagan licks the stiff bud and fastens his mouth on it, suckling hard.
My hips buck; each tug of his lips and each flick of his tongue create a delicious tingle between my legs. I nuzzle his stubbly cheek, then I press my mouth to his ear, for I want my whimpers to be his music.
Abruptly, Eagan's lips leave my breast. He yanks his head up to trail kisses along my neck, my jaw and lastly my lips. It's a hot and wet kiss; his tongue prods, plunders, devours.
A jolt of heat melts the ice coursing through my veins. I moan and fist his hair. I kiss him back with the same hunger.
Eagan's right hand slides between us. His fingertips find my clitoris and stroke it gently. Then he guides his tick shaft to my damp cleft and drives it inside me with little pushes, that are in sharp contrast with his greedy kiss, and are meant to let my tight passage get used to his invasion. The realization imbues my heart with joy.
My hips jerk up to meet his shoves. My senses unfold at the pure bliss surging throughout my skin. With each thrust, each touch, each kiss, Eagan melts the frost running in my veins. As his hard flesh slides in and out of my core, my inner muscles clench, and I moan his name over and over again. Finally, I press my mound against his pubic bone. I groan and I surrender to the intense waves of delight.
All around me, the room turns into a blurry kaleidoscope of yellow, purple, green and blue.
Eagan holds me and kisses me as the tremors in my body subside. I wrap my legs around him, to keep him inside me. I want to feel his release. I want to hold him as he shatters and shivers. I want to be his cradle, his home and his family once again.
“I love you, Eagan. My brave, strong friend. Come for me,” I whisper.
I sob with pleasure and pain as he moves inside me. His thrusts grow frantic and forceful. My sensitive inner walls quiver, triggering his release.
We cry, we fall, together.
“Brina, promise you'll never run away from me, again.” Eagan's voice is desperate.
I utter my promise against his lips.
I wake up amid purple sheets and yellow pillows that smell of cinnamon, lemon and sex. The late-morning sun bathes the bed and my sensitive limbs. My muscles are sore and my skin is dotted with whisker burns.
I open my eyes to a new life and I heave a contented sigh.
For a while I stare at the sunlight slanting through the curtains and smudging the walls with blue and green stains.
From the kitchen come the buzz of the coffee machine and the clank and clink of flatware and silverware.
I turn and reach for Eagan's pillow. As I bury my face in his lingering scent, my nipples tighten and liquid desire gathers in my core.
I crave him again.
Wearing only my yearning and my long, inky hair, I ease out of bed and leave the bedroom, to follow the sounds and the smells of breakfast.
As I enter the small kitchen, my steps falter on the cold floor. I hesitate.
Eagan is pouring orange juice into a glass. He's wearing low-slung black sweatpants and nothing else. His dark-blond hair is tousled. His soft lips are curled into a pensive smile. He looks glorious.
A small and needy sound escapes my throat.
Eagan looks up and, as his eyes rest on my face and then on my bare body, his relaxed expression disappears. The reality surrounding the building, the apartment, the two of us becomes a muted presence, for all I can perceive is the pounding of my heart and my labored breathing. Eagan's blue regard blazes into me and warms my skin. Then his eyes turn ardent and hungry, so much so that I perceive them like a caress across my skin.
He sets the juice onto the counter, then he moves a few steps in my direction. We contemplate one another with different eyes. It's like we've never seen each other before. The thought both scares and thrills me.
“Come here,” he drawls.
I go to him.
I link my arms around his waist and I bury my face against his broad chest. His arms loop around my shoulders and hold me close. We both moan with pleasure as our bodies come together.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, even as he bends down to kiss my hair.
“Yes, but it's not food I crave,” I answer.
A deep growl vibrates throughout his entire being. He backs away from me a little and he scoops me up in his arms. Then he carries me in our bedroom.
He torments me with bliss.
The first wave of ecstasy subsides, even so Eagan keeps lapping and nibbling at my swollen bundle of nerves. Still gasping for breath, I push myself up on my elbows and I stare at his dark-blond head buried between my parted legs.
He's kneeling in front of the bed. My legs dangle over the edge. He strokes his strong hands over my trembling thighs. His soft hair and the light rasp of his beard tickle my sensitive skin.
All these small sensations mingle with the feeling of his wet tongue delving within my delicate folds and brushing over my little nub. It all contributes to create a second rush of pleasure that washes over me with such force, that my body arches off the bed. Strength deserts me and I fall back onto the mattress, writhing, panting and sobbing his name.
I close my eyes and reach down blindly for him. I grasp his hair and I press his face to my groin, as I rub shamelessly against his mouth and his tongue to prolong my release.
Eagan's growl reverberates throughout my skin. Then, as the spasms begin to abate, I feel one of his fingers delve between my buttocks and graze my small opening. A fresh surge of lust flows over me, and for a long moment I drift away.
I've never let anyone pleasure me in this manner, or touch me the way he did yesterday night in the bathroom, for I consider those acts too intimate; but I trust
Eagan with everything in me, therefore I'm willing to surrender to him completely.
“Kitty-cat?”
My eyes flutter open. The bed dips, as Eagan eases up my body. He braces his weight on his arms and he beams down at me.
I reach up for him and I trail my fingertips over his beard stubble. He turns his head, first left then right, to place soft kisses on my palms.
His erection jerks against my belly, and heat pools between my legs once more.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him.
“I don't know if I can be gentle,” he admits.
I shrug. “Gentle is overrated.”
He chuckles. Then he nuzzles his way down my body.
He slides off the bed, then he stands by the end, gazing down at me for a while with shadowy eyes full of raw need..
My hips buck, inviting him and seeking his desire. Our ragged breathing is the only sound in the world.
Eagan lifts my legs and drapes them over his forearms. I brace for his hard thrust, but he presses inside me carefully.
The feeling of fullness makes me whine.
“Brina?” His voice is strained and husky.
“I'm fine,” I breathe.
My insides clench and ripple around his invasion. My neck bows backward and my lips part in a silent moan.
Heaving a deep groan, Eagan lets go and claims my body. He pushes in and out of me, until he finds his own release.
Afterward, he gathers me in his protective embrace, and I snuggle into him, while he soothes his hands over my shivery limbs.
“I hurt you,” he mumbles against my hair.
“A bit. But I liked it.” I brush a kiss across his chest.
Eagan cups my cheek and tilts my head upward, so that he can kiss me.
A Veil of Glass and Rain Page 11
