Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  He tucks his cloak around me again. “Sure,” he says. I duck my head to hide my grim smile at the huskiness in his voice.

  We walk briskly to my apartment and stand close in the elevator. I pull my key out of my boot and jam it in the lock, then fling the door open and grab a fistful of his tunic, dragging him after me. He chuckles as I slam the door and toss my winged headband behind me, but goes serious as I yank him toward me and slide my hand under that tunic, running my fingers along the ridges of his abs, scraping my fingernails along his warm skin. My head is spinning; I’ve had one too many drinks and a faint voice inside my head is telling me to stop, but I ignore it. If all those women at the party have gotten to have Aron, why can’t I have him, too, at least once, before he loses interest and moves on? Why can’t I claim him for eight hours, just like the bitchy cat burglar did?

  When my fingernail flicks a tiny, puckered nipple, Aron’s eyes close and his lips part. He curls his hand around the back of my neck, holding me still for a fierce kiss that ignites me, melts me, destroys me. I pull my hand out from under his tunic and tug it wide at the front. The laces holding it together give way, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, and before he can take a breath, I am tasting his skin.

  He is delicious, hot and heady and male and perfect, though I’d expect nothing less. He lays his palms on the wall behind me and leans forward while his head hangs, letting me do what I want. I step in close, tracing a wet path from his chest to his neck while my hands push his tunic up, up … he lifts the cloak over his head and holds up his arms so I can strip the tunic off. And there he is, lean, each sculpted muscle tense, and I want to stamp my essence on every square inch of him. I want him to be mine.

  But if I can’t have that, I’ll take whatever he’ll give me. Deep beneath the haze of desire that’s been building for the past two months, there is a scream of misery. I want more than his body. I want more than tonight. I want more than he gave those other women.

  When I nip at his collarbone and reach for his belt, he groans. “Nessa, we should—”

  “Yes,” I say as his belt and sword hit the parquet floor with a clatter. “We should.”

  He curses quietly and his arms slide around me, to the row of miniscule hooks at my back that hold my corset closed. It took me a long time to get the thing on, but he has it off me in three seconds flat. He has a lot of experience with this kind of thing, whispers the cat burglar.

  I lean against the wall as Aron drops the corset and stares down at me in my strapless bra, skirt and boots. I’m still wearing my cloak, and I fight the automatic urge to pull it around me, reminding myself that I can’t be scared tonight. Not if I want to take this opportunity for what it is. Hesitation will kill me. I force myself to look into his eyes as I slowly lift the cloak over my head. I unfasten my own sword belt. And then I reach back and unhook my bra. His jaw clenches as it dangles from my fingers, and his attention snaps to my breasts. Mine falls to the jut of his shaft, straining against his pants. The simultaneous jolt of nervousness and triumph makes me dizzy.

  Aron’s gaze caresses me, and I’d pay a lot to be able to read his mind. But then again, maybe I don’t want to. Is he comparing me to all the other women he’s been with? Do I measure up?

  I start to look down at myself, but Aron startles me by falling to his knees. I take in the exquisite angles of his face, his crescent-shaped scar, the hunger in his eyes as he slides his hand behind one of my knees and removes one of my boots, then the other. In flat feet, my chest is right at the level of his face, and that seems to have been his goal, because he runs his hand up my spine and tilts me forward. When his mouth closes over one of my breasts, I cry out, not expecting the explosion of sensation that radiates straight down through my belly and ends with a hot rush of need in my core.

  His tongue swirls over one pearled bud while his fingers play with the other. It’s all I can do to stay on my feet. My hands are in his hair and my head is bowed over his. I love you, I think miserably. Angrily. Deeply. You made me fall in love with you …

  My eyes burn with tears as his hand glides up my leg, to my thigh, under my skirt. His fingers slip beneath the hip band of my panties. This is it. This is how he takes what he wants. This is how he breaks my heart.

  He takes my nipple between his teeth, and I hiss with the sudden, hard pleasure of it. Against my will, I say his name. He kisses the spot right over my heart, like he knows it belongs to him. I let my head fall back and don’t try to stop the tear that falls from the corner of my eye. He sinks onto his heels, dragging his tongue along my stomach to my bellybutton as he slides my panties down my hip. “You taste as good as I thought you would,”

  he says in a ragged voice.

  “And you’re as good with your tongue as she said you were.”

  My eyes pop open, and I stare at the ceiling while Aron’s grip on me turns stiff. “What did you say?” he asks quietly.

  I bonk the back of my head against the wall. What is wrong with me? “If I say ‘nothing,’ will you buy it?”

  He pulls my panties back up onto my hip and sits back. “Did I hear you right?”

  I can’t look at him, so I continue to focus on the faint water stain around the entryway light above my head. “I met a cat burglar at the party. She asked me if I’d gotten to experience the amazing things you can do with your tongue. The things that gave her the best orgasms of her life, apparently.”

  Aron curses. “Look at me, Nessa.”

  I keep my eyes on the ceiling where they need to be. I must look so pathetic, all five-three of me, wearing only a fluttery skirt, pale as a fish, probably with red marks on my chest and waist from wearing a freaking leather corset all evening. I’m no Valkyrie, and the Viking sex god in front of me probably sees that clearly. “I wanted to find out for myself. Before I lost my chance.”

  “What?” He sounds so stricken that it draws my gaze to him as he rises to his feet. His expression is pinched, lines etched at the corners of his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  “After the cat burglar told me about your miraculous tongue, I saw you with the tall blond fairygirl,” I say quietly. “She was—touching you—she—” I gulp in a breath, choking on my hurt and jealousy. “I saw you taking her hand—”

  “You saw me prying her fingers off my arm. You saw me telling her I’m not available, that I’m with someone, that I’m sorry if I hurt her.”

  “You were with her, too, then.”

  “We talked about this,” he says, giving me a look full of warning. “I never lied to you.”

  “No, but a heads up about all of them being at the party would have been nice!” I snatch my cloak from the floor and clutch it to my chest, another tear streaking down my face as I shake my head and try to breathe. “But it’s fine. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” snaps Aron, raking his hand through his hair. “So that’s it? That’s why you’re acting like this? You’re trying to get me to use you like I’ve done with other women, just to see if it makes you feel as bad as they felt?” He grips my chin and lifts my face. “Guess what? It never would have worked.”

  I wince. “You don’t have to rub it in. I know I’m not as experienced or—”

  “Goddammit, Nessa!” He takes my whole face in his hands now and steps close, so the backs of my knuckles brush his bare stomach. “It wouldn’t have worked because I feel more for you than I ever have for anyone, and anything we do together isn’t me using you!” He squeezes his eyes shut and sets his forehead on mine. “It’s me, giving myself to you.”

  He pulls me into his arms and holds my head against his chest. Beneath my tear-stained cheek, I feel his heart pounding. “You thought this was goodbye, didn’t you?” he says, sounding like the breath’s been knocked out of him. “You were going to let me go. I had no idea I was worth so little to you.”

  It brings me to life, the sound of him hurting, those words coming out of him in a broken whisper. I coil my arms around his waist, an
d our chests are pressed together, holding the cloak between us. “Aron, you have no idea how much you’re worth. This isn’t a game to me.”

  He goes still. “Are you implying that’s what I think?”

  All our chess games come back to me, all the jokes about strategy. “I don’t know, is it?”

  “Only in the sense that I’ve devoted a lot of thought to how I’m going to push this to the endgame with you.” He takes me by the shoulders. “But after the past two months, you’re capable of thinking all I’m after is sex?” His eyes widen as he searches my face, and then his expression flashes with anger. “I guess you are. Or maybe you’re playing a game of your own. You’re scared, and you’re trying to fool yourself into thinking this is about me and other women. But I won’t let you pin this on me. This is about you finding excuses to push me away. For someone training to be a psychologist, you’re a pro at self-deception.” His voice is shaking, and every inch of him is rigid with tension as he starts to step away from me. “This would have meant something to me, Nessa, and you would have been pretending—”

  “It would have meant something!” My fingers hook through his belt loops, because I’m afraid he’s going to bolt. “Every minute we’ve been together has meant so much. You’re right, I haven’t wanted it to, but I haven’t been able to stop it. And now I can’t push you away. Not really.” I look up at him and give him the power to destroy me. “If you walked away right now, you’d still have my heart.”

  His expression is guarded. “Why are you so scared?”

  “Because you could hurt me! Over the last two months, my time with you has kept me afloat, and I’m not used to needing that. I didn’t even know I needed it until you came along! But if I lose it now …” I pause, trying to catch my breath. “Aron, you’re so beautiful that I feel like I can’t keep you, like I’m not good enough,” I finally choke out. “And I’m not talking about how you look. Well, not only that.”

  His fingers burrow into my hair. “Has it occurred to you I might feel the same way?”

  “No.” Because: what?

  “It should have.” He kisses me, framing my face with his hands, holding me like I’m fragile and precious. I shift, and the cloak falls from between us, bringing us chest to chest. We both let out a sudden breath, sagging a little at the incredible, overpowering sensation of skin on skin. But after a few seconds, Aron leans away. “I think I should leave.”

  For a moment, I want to withdraw into my shell, to put up my protective walls. But the last few minutes have made me realize that I want Aron more than I want to play safe with my heart. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “If I’d had any idea you were pushing things with me because you were upset,” he says, “I’d never have let it get this far. I don’t want to be with you this way.” When my face falls, he makes a frustrated noise. “Stop that. I’m desperate to be with you, Nessa.” His thumb skims over my lips. “But I need you to understand something: I want you completely. Brain, heart, and body. No walls between us. I want you to give yourself to me, but first you have to decide you’re ready for that.” He gives me a rueful look. “And as much as I want you, tonight is clearly not the night.”

  Now I really don’t want him to go. “Would you stay if I promised not to jump your bones?” I bite my lip and reach for his hand. “Would you stay and be next to me, just because I need you close?”

  He looks down at my fingers twining with his. “Well, when you put it that way …” A smile slips onto his face. “There’s no way I could say no.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I awaken when the light of the day trickles though the curtains. With my eyes shut, I assure myself that my memories of last night are real, not some imagined fantasy. It helps that Aron’s arm is around my waist, his fingers spread possessively over my belly, the warmth of his body at my back.

  After he agreed to stay, I scurried around my apartment, scrounging for the extra toothbrush I got from my last dentist appointment. I was so nervous that he’d change his mind and leave, but after he made the decision, he simply sat on my bed and watched me with a bemused smile, then welcomed me into his arms with a deep sigh. We didn’t say very much. I, for one, had been rocked to my core by the intensity of my own feelings, and needed the silent comfort of his nearness to put myself back together. Maybe he felt the same.

  From his breathing and the heavy looseness of his limbs, I think he’s still asleep. I don’t want to wake him. But knowing that he’s here, with me, snuggled under my comforter … I’m so happy. I’ve never been this happy. I clamp my lips shut and let the tear slide down my cheek.

  Aron’s hand moves across my body, drawing me closer to him. “Are you awake?” he whispers sleepily.

  I nod and swipe my hand over my face, feeling self-conscious, then put my hand over his. He rises on an elbow and leans over to kiss my temple, and as he does, I feel the hard length of him against my rear. Whoa. My body responds immediately, a subtle tightening, my toes curling. I wriggle back, curious, and am rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. His hand closes over my hip.

  I chuckle. “Please tell me that means you like waking up this way.”

  He moans as I move again, and then his fingers hold me still as he flexes his hips, pressing himself along the seam of my body. “You have no idea.” He bows his head and nips at my neck. His stubble scrapes at my skin, sending delicious chills through me, and his hand slides south as his tone turns mischievous. “Or do you?”

  From across the room, my phone starts to ring inside my bag, but I ignore it because his fingertips are burrowing under the waistband of my shorts. He stops right there, waiting for me. With the feel of his shaft against me and his hot breath skimming across my throat, my hand moves on its own, covering his, nudging it down. All instinct, I lift my leg and hook it over the top of his, allowing him access as my heart speeds.

  His fingers slip beneath the barrier of my panties, finding my already slick folds, zeroing in on the sensitive nub of my clit. I gasp as his fingertip circles it. “So wet,” he murmurs, sliding his finger down the center of me and finding my opening. He swallows my cry as that finger enters me, and kisses me with slow thrusts of his tongue that match the movements of his hand.

  My phone starts to ring again, but I barely hear it. I’m helpless now, caught in the circle of Aron’s arms as a second finger joins the first and he grinds his hips against me. I am a mindless mess, gripping his hair and clutching him to me as pleasure winds through my body, up my spine and down my limbs, carrying me toward complete surrender.

  After falling silent for all of three seconds, my phone rings a third time. Aron raises his head as his hand stills. “Someone really wants to reach you,” he says between breaths. “Should you check?”

  My first thought is HELL NO, because I’m so close, so desperate, but as the phone continues to chirp, I realize it could very well be an emergency. What if something’s happened to my mom? What if she needs me? “Yeah,” I say, self-conscious again as he slides his fingers from my body.

  I scoot out of bed, dig my still-ringing phone out of my purse, and frown when I see the name that comes up in the caller ID. It’s the psych department at the University of Wisconsin. “Hello?”

  “Nessa,” says an accented voice. “It’s Ranaan Eshkol.”

  The weirdness of hearing his voice coming out of my cell phone steals any polite words I might have had. “Um … hi?”

  “I apologize for calling at such an odd time, but I am notifying all of Dr. Rush’s graduate students that he had a heart attack last night and—”

  “What?” I sit down heavily, cold spreading outward from my chest. “Are you serious? Is he in the hospital? Is he okay?”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but no. He passed away early this morning.” He pauses when I gasp. “This has been a shock for all of us. Quite sudden and absolutely tragic. Funeral services will be held on Tuesday. I understand you are on internship in Philadelphia—”

  “I’ll
be there,” I whisper.

  My thoughts are a jumbled chaos. All I can picture is Becca and little Colin ... they must be devastated. Frank is gone. He’s gone. I barely manage to thank Dr. Eshkol for calling before I hang up, my lips tingling and numb as the shock rolls over me. When the connection is gone, I drop my phone and bow my head.

  Aron is next to me in an instant, wrapping his arms around me as my tears begin to fall. “What’s happened?” he asks, guiding me back to the bed.

  Between sobs, I tell him. “He just turned forty last year! But he was working so hard. He—he was helping me, doing all these things for me. And he was tired. I heard it in his voice. What if he—”

  Aron rocks me gently. “Shh. If you’re suggesting that you contributed to his condition, you need to stop. For someone his age to experience a myocardial infarction like that—if that’s what it was—it wouldn’t have resulted from stress.”

  I cling to him, my fingers pressing into his skin. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Aron keeps his fierce grip on me as I lose it. He lets me babble about the last four years and everything Frank did for me, how he cared about me and looked out for me. “I have to go to Wisconsin,” I finally say. “I have to go immediately.”

  “I know.” He looks down at me and runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek, brushing away a tear. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know. I have to attend the funeral, but I also have to sort out a lot of stuff.” As I say it, the whole thing crashes down on me. Frank was managing everything for me, and without him, my chances of graduating this August are fading fast. I don’t even want to be thinking about that now, but I have no choice.

  Aron squeezes me, and I lay my head on his chest. “I’ll miss you,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

  “When I come back, I want more of this.” I tilt my head up and draw my fingers along his neck, his jaw.

  His eyes flutter shut at my feather-soft touches, my silent exploration, and then he presses my palm to his face and holds it there. “When you come back, I want more than this,” he whispers.