by Maya DeLeina
And just like him, the tattoos were mesmerizing, intriguing, and mysterious.
He stood like a statue, unwavering, allowing her to soak in every detail. He showed no reserve or inhibition. He was at total ease with his nudity in her presence. He personified physical dominance, a man who could serve as her protector. And a man who could completely ravish her, serve her animalistic need.
The breeze intensified, and the canopy material blew across his chest, draping over a shoulder and running down the length of his back. It created the most sensual sight.
Catching the length of the material as it swayed off his back, she pulled his left arm behind and entwined the white material around his wrist. His right arm followed, positioning it to rest palm over palm as she worked the material around both wrists. She reached in front of him and cupped his aching flesh. He hissed like a cat in response, his body tensing at her touch.
She released her hand and traced down his engorged shaft.
From the frenulum down to the base, she traced every vein, every contour. His skin felt like soft leather. He trembled in response. She grasped his thickness and ran her hand up and down, allowing his skin to slide along the shaft. His buttocks tensed as he let out a long, resonant groan. She continued to stroke him, grasping harder in a rhythmic building of need. She traced kisses down his biceps.
All the while, he was making his way out of the hand restraints.
He caught her hand in his and turned, forcing her backside against him once again.
Restraining the beast proved to be the last straw. His passion was like a wildfire, spreading freely, uncontrolled and without a clear path. The dam of self control was broken. Hunger, craving, desire peaked in his eyes.
He grabbed the white fabric and laced it around her neck. He pulled her arm behind her and wrapped her hand around his cock. She stroked him up and down, relishing the feel of his moistened tip. He fisted the material tightly around her neck as his free hand traveled to her crotch and explored the wetness of her folds wildly, passionately.
“Anya?” he whispered in her ear. The intense timbre of his voice, his heavy panting, the magnetism of his sexy accent, melted her heart.
“Yes?”
“Can I take you?” he asked.
“Take me!”
“Can I…claim you?” he asked again, this time with a slight hesitation.
“Claim me!”
He grabbed her shoulders fiercely and turned her around.
“Anya?” A faint female voice echoed.
“Anya!”
Michelle shook Anya as she napped on the futon in her office.
Anya opened her eyes wide and blinked repeatedly to focus on Michelle as her heavy breathing slowed.
Michelle was crouched by the futon, sporting a smile, but with a profound look of regret on her face.
“I’m sorry, honey, I know it must’ve been a real good one with you moaning and writhing here, but you said to wake you at this time so you could get down to the studio.”
“Yeah, thanks. Really, thank you. I needed you to do that.” Anya sat up and continued, “Sorry. I still haven’t been able to get a good night’s rest lately. I keep having these types of dreams, ever since that day.”
“It must be the thin air up there in Ambrose Heights!” Michelle said jokingly to lighten mood. She sat back down in her office chair and put her reading glasses on. “So, did you get to see his face this time?”
“No. But his scent, the sound of his voice and that sexy accent of his is etched in my brain. They’ll stay with me, even after I wake up.” Suddenly, Anya recalled something she never saw revealed in other dreams. “Wait! I saw tattoos!”
“Tattoos? Of what?”
“I don’t know, like a tribal armband on one side.” Anya motioned around her left bicep as she recalled the image in her mind. “The other side looked like a crest, right up at the top of his shoulder. It was very distinctive. Very…sexy.”
Michelle squinted in apparent jealousy. “And you’re complaining about sleep when you’re having these most delicious erotic dreams of a tattooed hottie? You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“I mean really, I’m wondering if something is wrong with me. The dreams are so vivid, so sensory-based. Is this a result of overactive hormones?” Anya slipped on her jewelry one by one that she’d laid out on the coffee table. “Is this supposed to be happening to my mind, my body giving me one last hoorah before menopause starts to kick in?” Anya paused. “You never had anything like this before, did you?”
“Of course I did. Don’t you remember? I used to have really wild sexual dreams about Dominic. I just don’t think mine were as detailed or intense as yours. I couldn’t recall a scent or voice like you do. Mine were all visually based on a man I knew.”
A hint of vulnerability and sadness was etched on Michelle’s face.
Anya studied her emotions.
Suddenly, Michelle jumped to another subject. “So, new student huh?”
“Three of them actually. Out of the clear blue, a man called, said I was recommended by someone I taught through the Heartstrings program. He booked the entire month, from 3:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., for relatives of his.” Anya stood up and draped her silk shawl around her shoulders. “Next thing I know, I have an envelope delivered to the studio, payment in full, and a bonus for the short notice and readjusting my availability.”
“Wow. Who was the check from? Who was it that recommended you?”
“Cash payment, and he couldn’t recall.”
“Hmm. Well, still a great opportunity, although, the timing sucks. I just wish this happened for you when that bastard left you broke. Now you have your inheritance.”
“Michelle, I still need the money. I paid off all the debts with the inheritance, but I didn’t keep any of it for myself. I used some of it to help build up Heartstrings, and I donated the rest to various charities.”
Michelle took off her glasses and jumped from her chair. “I didn’t know you didn’t keep it! Why? Why did you do that? Why didn’t you tell me? I know money doesn’t make up for the loss of loved ones, but with all that you been through, you deserved this.”
“It was a choice I made. I really didn’t want to talk about my reasons.”
“But I don’t understand! You could’ve traveled, seen all the places you talked about visiting, buy yourself a little piece of happiness for god’s sake!” Michelle sat down next to Anya on the futon.
“Just as you never want to talk about what happened with Dominic with me, I don’t discuss money with you.”
“Ouch,” replied Michelle.
As it stood, Anya was shielding a lot more than money discussions from Michelle, from everyone lately.
She had lost both her husband and sister in a matter of weeks, two traumatic events that preceded similar painful, life-changing events in her past. She was amazed at her continued ability to bounce back, retain resiliency. What proved to be more of a challenge was to persuade people around her to treat her with normalcy and not be consumed with asking how she was feeling each second of the day.
Michelle had finally stopped hovering and being overly protective of her. She knew she meant well, but all she needed was her friend, not a constant reminder of her tragedies in life. She couldn’t bring herself to confide in Michelle, at least not now, about the realization with which she was currently wrestling.
Ryan had been involved with Anise.
As she’d spoken with Ryan’s friends and associates after he left, a resonating theme always surfaced. They would reference places and events that they had last seen her and Ryan together at. They always made note that she didn’t “appear to be herself.” At first, she thought she was losing her mind. She started jotting down dates, places, events and comparing them to her calendar. There was no way it was her, unless she’d found a way to clone herself.
Ryan, however, had. He had found his ultimate mistress in Anise.
He could revel in the excitement and pas
sion of being with someone new, but still parade her around as Anya, his wife, so he wouldn’t tarnish his reputation.
Then there was the issue of the money.
There was no reasonable explanation for Anise’s sudden influx of wealth. And, with Anya’s joint account and investments dwindled in almost proportionate size to what she eventually inherited from Anise’s estate, it was the last shred of proof she needed. Ryan was already divorced from her in his mind, but the one thing he cared about most, his money, would have to be securely sheltered before he made his break. What a stupid man, to hide it in his mistress’s name. She never figured out why Anise made a will and decided to put her as the beneficiary. She didn’t care, as far as she knew, the money was tainted with lies and deception from the two people she loved the most. All she could do was turn the negativity attached to the money to a positive use.
As far as Ryan, she didn’t know what happened to him. It was like he died, but with no burial, no closure. She’d never seen or heard from him since that morning in their driveway. He had simply vanished, and she was ready to move on. She needed to break all ties with Ryan, but getting a divorce from a person who’d vanished proved to be a long battle. She had to hire an investigator to hunt down Ryan. When the efforts proved to be fruitless, she then had to endure the drawn-out process of serving Ryan by publication to finally get a Colorado decree of dissolution and division of their residence. The divorce, however, didn’t give her the power of finality that she’d hoped for. For closure, she dreamt of Ryan, burning in the well with Anise on that cattle ranch.
Ryan was dead. With that, she could move on.
Anya stood from the futon and reached for the chenille throw. “And you know, it’s been almost a year now, and still you shy away from talking about anything related to Dominic. Why can’t you open up to me, Michelle?”
“No, Anya, there are a lot of reasons why I will not talk about him. It’s exactly as you said, I don’t discuss Dominic, and you don’t discuss your crazy need to donate absurd amounts of cash.”
“All right, I won’t push it.” Anya folded the throw. “Are you gonna stop by the house tonight?”
“Nope, I have a date tonight. We’re going out for some fondue,” Michelle said enthusiastically. “By the way, talk to any of your neighbors yet?”
“What can I say? They keep to themselves. It seems I have a connection with the workers rather than the residents there. They’re the only ones who talk to me. Actually, they’re the only ones I see around. Oh, but I did get some information on the owner of the castle.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I was talking to the caretaker, Vaughn. He’s a very nice man, a real father-figure quality to him. Anyway, the owner is a male, single and…our age.”
“And gay.” Michelle shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. I get the strange sense that Vaughn was trying to set us up or something. He kept going on and on about him and was so intent in watching my reaction.”
“He’s ugly then.” Michelle shrugged.
“Michelle!” Anya picked up her purse and walked over to the floor-length mirror that stood in the corner of the office. The sight of the mirror evoked a flashback from her dream and made her blush.
“No. A freak. Anya, it’s a damn castle that looks like he transported it from Romania or something and plopped it atop the mountain here in Colorado. I mean, why didn’t he just finish off and put in a moat and drawbridge in, too—call himself Vlad?”
“Michelle, you’re so shallow! Besides, I don’t think Vlad’s castle had a moat. I believe Castle Poenari actually sat Cliffside. Now, the Snagov Monastery, where his tomb is kept, I think that has a moat.” Anya smoothed out her clothes in the mirror. She was beaming on the inside knowing that her knowledge of useless details would infuriate Michelle.
On the outside, she kept the straightest face she could possibly muster.
“Castle what? Whatever! Look, the guy is what, in his thirties, loaded, and still single? Not very likely. I’m telling you, he’s probably gay or seriously beaten with an ugly stick.” Michelle got up from the futon and headed in Anya’s direction to plead her case.
Powdering her nose in the mirror, Anya responded, “Or, maybe he’s just a good-hearted man who hasn’t met the right woman yet.” She closed the compact and reached for her lipstick. “Believe me, you can’t just give your heart to someone. You never know how true they are.”
Silence washed over them.
Anya froze with lipstick in midair as her own words stung for a second.
Moving forward with reapplying her lipstick, Anya broke the silence. “Did you get a chance to research anything on what happened to me that day with the stone?”
“Umm, yeah! And thank you, by the way.” Michelle picked up a brush and brushed Anya’s long, black, silky hair.
“What?”
“I told some patrons your story, you know, to drum up business, and now I’m known as the lady who sells orgasm stones. I’m thinking of renaming the store The Mystic O!”
Anya giggled as she reached for her eyeliner. “Just don’t ask me to do a demonstration in the shop for you. Anyone report back anything like my experience?”
“What do you think?” Michelle stopped and cocked her head at her in the mirror.
“It’s supposed to evoke heightened stimulation and passion for two people who are harmonious in mind and spirit, and it’s conveyed when their bodies touch.” Michelle emphasized the last part.
“You? You’re out in a driveway of some ugly, gay man’s house and start having a good old time with nothing but the thin air up there. It’s not supposed to do that.”
Michelle shook her head and continued, “I don’t think the stone really had anything to do with it. There has to be another explanation for it.”
Chapter Nine
Never had Steffan been concerned with his looks or his choice in attire, but today was a day unlike any other.
The daily ritual of simply dressing and grooming proved to be difficult. He had spent hours prepping himself, making himself presentable for his mate, but it wasn’t enough.
He wanted finery and perfection, or as close as he could possibly get to it.
He’d wrestled with the choice of retaining a finely manicured beard, a simply-stated goatee, or a clean-shaven look. He called in reinforcements from the family for their assistance.
Catrin and Brynne had jumped at the opportunity to help their leader prepare for his first encounter with Anya.
Rhys stood in the doorway of the master bath, exuding an air of complete disturbance, watching Steffan’s masculinity reduced in the primping ritual the women subjected him to.
Steffan sat in the chair clothed only in his robe. His long hair was wrapped turban-like with the towel, allowing the deep conditioner to work its magic. The facial mask was generously applied and carefully molded around his eyes and mouth. His face remained still as he balanced two slices of cucumbers on his eyes. The girls worked on his manicure. Catrin kneeled at his feet as Brynne worked on his strong hands.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Rhys voiced echoed in the bathroom.
“Why? What’s going on?” Eilian asked as he entered the room.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I mean, I didn’t go through all of this for Brynne,” Rhys said.
Steffan heard Brynne whisper something inaudible under her breath.
He smiled.
Eilian continued to whisper to Rhys, “You will need to talk to him today, before he leaves. I can’t give him any advice that will help. I don’t know what this is like. You’re the only one in our family who has claimed a human as a mate.”
“I know. I got it under control. Before he leaves today, I’ll take him on a walk.” Rhys responded.
“Rhys, I truly hope she accepts him, who he is. I don’t know what will happen to him if he’s denied the love of his true mate. Look what happened to Dominic because of Michelle’s decision,” Eilian
voiced, as if Steffan wasn’t in the room.
“You know, I can hear you two over there,” Steffan said as he sat in the chair.
“Hey, right now you are nonexistent to me with all this froufrou stuff you got going on here. Deal with it,” Rhys explained with a hint of utter distaste in his voice.
“Rhys, there is nothing wrong with a man getting pampered. You should try it sometime. Trust me, you could use it,” Brynne responded.
Steffan chuckled.
“W–well, men are supposed to have stinky feet.” Rhys stumbled on his words.
Giggles shot across the room.
“The Waterboy movie quote? Really? Rhys Matthews, if I weren’t in love with you…” Brynne trailed off.
Steffan loved the banter between Rhys and Brynne. Their love for one another was undeniable, yet Brynne’s quick wit and Rhys’s need to quote testosterone-laced movies made for priceless entertainment.
“All done, Steffan!” Catrin said as she got up off the floor.
“Me, too,” replied Brynne. “Let’s wash off this mask and rinse your hair.”
Catrin removed the cucumbers from Steffan’s eyes and helped him rise from the chair while Brynne waited at the sink, spray nozzle in hand.
The girls caught each other’s eyes and smiled freely in their enjoyment of the moment.
Catrin held on to Steffan by his well-defined bicep, maneuvering him in Brynne’s direction. He walked, unsettled, unbalanced in the rubber flip-flops and pink foam inserts that protruded between each toe.
“I can’t fricken take this anymore. I’m out!” Rhys said as he turned to exit the bath. “Steffan, you truly disappoint me, allowing the girls to take advantage of you like this!”
Steffan’s manicured middle finger waved in a silent response.
The women laughed.
Brynne went to work, towel drying Steffan’s hair as Catrin delicately dabbed his face dry. Although Catrin and Brynne were family, the act of being totally submissive to a woman excited and pleased Steffan.
He tucked that away as a mental note for Anya.
“Clean-shaven was definitely the right choice to go with,” Catrin said as she stepped back to examine their handwork on Steffan.
