by Alix Nichols
That moniker, said in a deep, gravelly voice feels like a caress. Loving. Tender. Doing unwanted things to my heart.
Watch out, Clarissa.
I trace his firm jawline. “I have a nickname for you, too, you know.”
“Tell me.”
“Cowboy.”
He laughs. “Did you just come up with it?”
“No, that’s what I’ve been calling you since your fourth visit when Nina told me what you did for a living.”
“I’m afraid what I do is a lot less romantic than what you see in movies,” he says, before cocking his head. “So, you spotted me a while ago.”
I nod, caught red-handed.
He gives me a long look, and I know what he’s thinking even if the question never comes.
I give him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to give you a chance to ask me out.”
Wow. That came out a lot more brutal than I intended.
“I figured that much,” he says.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me a question during the tour?” I smooth the back of my hand against his cheek, enjoying the prickliness of his stubble. “Everyone else did, but you never said a word. You just stared.”
He shrugs. “I had lots of questions, but I thought they were dumb. I didn’t want to ruin my already slim chances with you.”
“The questions you asked tonight, and the observations you made were anything but dumb,” I say. “Even my parents would concede that much.”
“I take it they have lofty standards?”
I roll my eyes. “You have no idea. I’m a fourth-generation archeologist on both sides, so they expect me to be the next Champollion.”
“The name sounds familiar… Who’s that?”
“The guy who cracked Egyptian hieroglyphs in the nineteenth century.”
He nods. “That’s a tall order.”
I skew a smile. “Not for Penelope Clarissa Muller. They seriously expect the Nobel Committee will one day have to add a new prize category in archeology just to celebrate my achievements.”
“You’re lucky,” he says.
I draw my eyebrows together. “Is that a joke?”
“Nope.” He kisses my hand as I trail it across his mouth. “You have parents who believe you’re super smart and can do anything.”
“Do you realize the pressure that puts on me? I feel that no matter how hard I work, I’m bound to disappoint them.”
“Right,” he says. “I hadn’t considered that part.”
I peer at him. “What about your parents? I bet your mom thinks you’re a national treasure, and your dad must have been very proud of you.”
“It’s hard to know what Ma thinks of me,” he says with a smirk. “Except that it’s my sacred duty to make sure it’s handed down to the next generation.”
I frown.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “Ma has a great personality and she loves me. It’s just… well, let’s just say she may not be convinced I’m the brightest pea in the pod.”
My jaw falls. “Why would you say that?”
“Maybe because she and Pop took me out of regular school at sixteen and sent me to an agricultural lycée.”
“It wasn’t what you wanted?”
“I didn’t really have time to stop and consider what I wanted. Dad had been so sick, and then I had to deal with the funeral and all the paperwork because Ma was too devastated. She could barely make herself get up in the morning… And then we were hit by the milk crisis.”
“I remember seeing angry farmers on TV,” I say. “They blocked roads and dumped manure in front of administrative buildings.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be angry, too, if you had to pay 45 percent in taxes when the milk price was pushed down to two hundred euros per ton.”
“I believe I would.” I kiss his nose. “Do you think you would’ve gone to college, if circumstances had been different?”
He slips a hand under the double layer of our jackets and cups one of my breasts over the blouse. My lids drop with the joy of his warm, big hand on my petite breast.
“Honestly,” he says. “I’m not sure I would’ve gone to college. I did OK at school, but I was never an A student.”
I caress his strong neck. “Few boys are at that age. They just take longer to grow up than girls.”
“Anyway,” he says. “It wasn’t in the cards. The year Pop died, his friend and our neighbor—my bestie Celine’s dad—took his life. Several farms went belly up… But for Ma, selling our farm was out of the question. It was Pop’s legacy. He’d sacrificed himself for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He died of cancer caused by pesticide exposure. You see, he’d been in charge of spraying since he was ten, and he’d never used a mask or gloves.”
“How awful!”
He nods.
“You loved him very much, didn’t you?” I ask.
“I worshiped him.”
We stroke each other in silence for a while.
I wonder if Nathan will ask me if he can see me again. For his sake, I hope he doesn’t. He won’t like my reply.
“Do you have a boyfriend in Paris?” he asks.
I shake my head, dreading the next question.
But when it comes, it isn’t what I expected. “How long has it been since you had sex?”
“A long time.” I hesitate. “Eighteen months.”
He sucks in a breath, but says nothing.
The flashlight battery dies a few minutes later.
When Nathan moves to turn his phone on, I grab his hand to stop him. “We should try to get some sleep.”
“Yes, we should.” He picks me up and lowers me onto the bench. “Put your head on my lap, and lie down.”
“What about you?”
“I can sleep sitting,” he says. “I’ve done it before.”
I stretch out on the bench and fall asleep within minutes with my face to his groin and his hand in my hair.
Anne-Chantal’s laughing voice wakes us up in the morning. “What a picture!”
I sit up and look at my watch. It’s seven in the morning.
Thank God, she showed up to work an hour early!
When I glance at Nathan before I return his jacket, he’s peering at her, eyes narrowed and eyebrows lowered. That prompts me to pay closer attention.
The cashier doesn’t look shocked to discover us here.
She doesn’t even look surprised.
In fact, she looks mighty pleased with herself.
8
Nathan
Ma is back from her vacation, cooking a homecoming dinner.
Celine, Frau Lotte, and Lorenzo are also in the kitchen, supposedly giving Ma a hand, but are really just sipping wine and talking about organic fertilizers. That is, Celine is doing most of the talking and the others are doing most of the sipping.
I can hear everyone’s voices very distinctly from the computer room where I’m toiling with an endless EU questionnaire. Ma never touches them, but one day she’s going to have to sit down and learn. I hate paperwork as much as she does, so it’s only fair that we take turns.
After Anne-Chantal freed us yesterday morning, Rissa said she needed to go home for a few hours. She had her own car and didn’t need me to give her a lift. Once she left, I tried to pressure Ma’s chum to confess to jamming the lock.
She folded her arms across her generous bosom. “Someone had to do something. It was becoming unbearable to watch you waste away like that.”
“So, you confess—”
“I confess to nothing at all.” She lifted her chin to the locksmith working on the door. “He’ll confirm it was a malfunction.”
I rolled my eyes, not bothering to ask Marcel, our village locksmith and Anne-Chantal’s dear husband, for confirmation.
Before I left the Grotto, I discreetly placed my phone under the bench, next to an eyeglasses case that must have fallen out of Rissa’s handbag. With a bit of luck, she’d be the one to find
it when she came looking for her glasses. That would give her a pretext to get in touch.
Still under the spell of our intimacy in the cave, I was hopeful, almost certain she’d show up last night. Or at least reach out via Anne-Chantal, inviting me to come by and collect my phone.
But she didn’t.
Not last night, nor this morning before work. And now, with a rainstorm howling outside, bending trees and threatening to blow roofs away, there’s no way she’ll turn up.
The doorbell rings.
I open the door, expecting Lorenzo’s girlfriend Paola, who always arrives at least twenty minutes late.
Except it isn’t Paola—it’s Rissa.
“Your phone,” she says, handing me the device.
“Thank you.”
We stare at each other.
“I better go,” she begins.
“Stay.” I clear my throat. “Ma is cooking boeuf bourguignon tonight, her specialty. We have a few people over for dinner.”
She hesitates. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Don’t be daft.” I point to the uproar outside. “It’ll be safer to drive back in a couple of hours when the storm quiets down.”
She glances at the sky, at her car, and then back at me. “OK. Thank you.”
When we enter the kitchen, four pairs of eyes zero in on her and shift to me.
“Hi everyone,” she says, giving them a timid little smile.
Well done, Rissa!
If I were in her place now, with Celine, Lorenzo and—especially—Ma eyeballing me like that, I think I’d just go into a stupor.
They all greet her.
“This is Clarissa,” I say. “I invited her to join us for dinner.”
Celine jumps up and puts an extra plate, glass and silverware on the table.
Respect, she mouths to me when Rissa isn’t looking.
Lorenzo fills her glass. Ma stirs the brew on the stove with her back to us. I wonder what she’s thinking.
The doorbell rings again, and this time it’s Paola.
Ma announces that the food is ready and can everyone please sit down.
I serve.
“If I knew we had a special guest tonight, I would’ve laid the table in the dining room,” Ma says, taking her serving of fragrant bourguignon from me.
Celine pats her hand. “Your kitchen is just as presentable, Brigitte.”
“I know,” Ma says. “But still.”
Paola turns to Rissa. “Are you a local farmer, too?”
Celine snorts.
“I’m an archeologist,” Rissa says with a smile. “I curate the museum at the Darcy Grotto near Auxerre.”
Lorenzo perks up. “We were planning to go there next weekend!”
The conversation flows smoothly, mostly between the volunteers, Celine, and Rissa. I keep silent, listening and staring at Rissa.
So does Ma.
When Lorenzo, Frau Lotte and I finish our second servings, Ma ushers everyone to the TV room for tea and cookies.
Rissa giggles over something Celine whispers in her ear. I swallow my cookie and scoot closer on the couch to where Rissa is sitting.
“What about the public library in Auxerre?” she asks Celine.
My friend sighs. “All female stuff.”
“Have you tried your luck in Dijon?” Rissa asks. “It has several libraries.”
Oh, I see. Celine has told her about her hot nerd fetish.
“I have,” she says. “And I even spotted there two adorkable guys who were totally my type and weren’t wearing wedding rings.”
“And?” Rissa leans forward, bright-eyed.
Celine shrugs. “And, crickets. Both made it clear they weren’t interested.”
“Um… Have you considered tweaking your look a little bit?” Rissa asks her.
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s the combination of cropped hair, lumberjack shirt, roomy jeans, Doc Martens, and posture.” Rissa smiles softly. “It might be giving the men who don’t know you the wrong idea.”
“Which is?”
“That you’re into women.”
Frau Lotte, who seems to have overheard Rissa’s last remark, turns to Celine, disappointment and shock in her eyes. “You’re not?”
Celine blinks, flabbergasted.
Frau Lotte mutters something that sounds like a curse under her breath.
“Jeez, I had no idea.” Celine looks at Rissa and at Frau Lotte. “Really?”
Both women nod.
“But I love my lumberjack shirts!” Celine says. “They’re part of who I am. And you can’t expect me to wear heels on a farm!”
“Of course not,” Rissa says.
Celine puffs, stands, and carries her plate to the kitchen. When she reappears in the TV room, her expression is determined.
“Thank you, Brigitte, for the delicious dinner,” she says to Ma. “So happy we met, Clarissa! Night, everyone. I’m turning in early so I can process this… revelation.”
“I’ll be happy to paint your nails and teach you how to use makeup,” Paola offers.
Celine nods a thank-you and marches out the door.
One after another, the volunteers retreat to their sleeping quarters. Ma yawns, declares she’s too knackered to stay up and heads to her bedroom upstairs.
Rissa and I are the last ones left in the room.
My heart pounds in my chest.
If she didn’t mean to spend the night with me, she would’ve left by now. Right?
I stare at her lips.
She stares at mine.
Suddenly, she stands. “Thank you, Nathan. I had a wonderful evening.”
“Want to have a look at my cottage before you drive off?” I blurt.
“You don’t live in the farmhouse?”
I shake my head and stand. “Follow me.”
The moment we enter the cottage and I pull the door closed, I’m kissing her. She kisses me back, opening her mouth to let me in. I thrust in my tongue deep and hard, while my hands tug at her coat.
She lets me remove it.
I’m so impatient my hands are shaking as I throw it over a chair. Her hands are just as unsteady when she pulls on the sides of my jacket.
I shrug it off.
We kiss and kiss, starved for each other, drinking each other in. My mouth latches to her soft lips with an almost bruising ferocity I’ve never known before and a need I’m unable to control. This woman was made for me. I know it in my bones.
Just like I know she’ll let me take her tonight.
That’s why she’s here.
She’s going to give it her best shot despite her misgivings and fears that she’s too small for me.
I let go of her mouth.
She gasps, eyes glazed with lust.
“I’ll be gentle,” I whisper near her ear. “I won’t give you more than you can take.”
She nods once, her nod a profession of trust.
As my hand grips her waist and pulls her to me, my other hand unzips her silky black pants. They fall to the floor and she steps out of them. Slipping a hand inside her panties, I press two fingers to her cleft and rub. She moans. When I plunge them inside her, her moans turn into whimpers.
I kiss her again, pushing my tongue deep, fucking her mouth with it. She grows unsteady on her feet, leaning against me for support. A few more thrusts of my tongue and fingers and she collapses against me.
“Aah,” she groans raggedly into my mouth.
My cock is so hard it threatens to make a hole through my jeans or burst them at the seams.
That’s it, I’m taking her within the next five minutes or I’ll explode.
I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. We yank on each other’s clothes and underwear until we’re naked. I open a condom. She helps me roll it on.
I nudge her to lie on her back and rake my gaze over her. “So beautiful. I’m going to kiss you absolutely everywhere, but right now I need to be inside you.”
“I need you
inside me.”
Her face is flushed with an almost desperate longing, and she’s dripping wet from my earlier caresses.
It’s now or never, Nathan.
Positioning my tip at her entrance, I rub it against her wet curls and push in just a notch. Slowly, her opening begins to stretch, adjusting to me.
She lifts her head, propping herself on her elbows. “I want to watch you enter me.”
Another small thrust, then another. More stretching. My gaze travels between her pussy and her face looking out for signs of discomfort. But there are none. Encouraged by that, I thrust again, this time harder.
A throaty gasp escapes Rissa’s lips and she arches her back.
Still no sign of pain.
With another push, I’m so deep in her I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to go any farther.
I withdraw slowly and thrust again, careful not to hit her womb. “How’s this?”
“It’s wonderful,” she says. “Absolutely fucking wonderful.”
Dropping her head back to the pillow, she grips my neck and wraps her legs around my waste.
As I pump in and out, pleasure builds, held back only by my promise not to give her more than she can take.
“Faster,” she commands.
I increase the cadence, and soon we’re moving against each other fast and hard like a well-oiled machine. Given how happy she looks and sounds, I’m tempted to push deeper still, but I rein in that urge.
As things stand, I don’t know if I’ll see her again. But if I hurt her, even inadvertently, I can be sure as hell that I won’t.
Closing my eyes, I thrust, faster and faster. She writhes beneath me, completely open, throbbing around me, trusting me to give her what she craves.
A few more thrusts, and her pussy begins to spasm. I burn again to push a little deeper while she’s riding her orgasm, but I deny myself. This will have to do. This is already so much more than I could hope for.
Crying out my name, Rissa shudders. A tremor shakes her legs and her body, while her mouth opens, forming a beautiful o.
The sight of her abandon sends me over the edge.
With each spurt of my seed, the pressure subsides, making room for joy, and a flying sensation that lifts my hard body as if it were a feather.
