by Alix Nichols
But she’s too green for that.
I take a deep breath and still her. With more control than I think I am capable of, I withdraw from her mouth.
When my mind clears enough to permit coherent thought, two things become evident.
The first one is that I don’t give a shit if what I’m feeling for Uma is just crazy lust or something bigger. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I want more of it.
I want more of her.
The second realization is more pragmatic. I had better remember where I put that condom.
Because if I don’t, I’ll take her without one. Barring sudden death or full paralysis, there’s no way in hell I’m making it through the night without filling Uma’s sweet little sex.
“Don’t move,” I say as I rummage through the closet drawers.
“Bingo!” I turn to her with not one but two condoms in my hand.
I am the king of the world.
Uma stands up, and for a long moment, I just stare at her. All of her.
“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I say, meaning every word.
She smiles, blushing a little.
When I’ve had my fill of looking, I take a step toward her and cup her breasts. The contrast between the softness of the flesh in my palms and the hardness of the nipples prodding them is incredibly erotic.
I point my chin to the pillow. “Lie down.”
Uma stretches out on her back.
I slide a condom on and position myself over her, holding myself up on my forearms.
Her black hair fans out on the pillow, glossy and smooth. I nuzzle it. It smells so good. It always smells good. Lifting my head, I take in her delicate nose, her glistening lips, her expressive eyes.
They hold nothing but tenderness and blind trust. So much trust that I begin to second-guess myself. I shouldn’t be doing this. Of all the women in the world, Uma is the one forbidden to me. She’s out of bounds, she’s the worst possible choice for what I want from a woman at this point in my life. There’s still time to backpedal.
Get up and leave, Zach, right now, for heaven’s sake—
She wraps her arms around my neck and spreads her thighs, pressing up against my erection. “Make love to me, Zach. I want you. I’m ready.”
Game over.
I press hot kisses to her face. “I want you more than you know.”
Craving a taste of her “readiness,” I almost go down on her again, but she wraps her legs around the back of my thighs, locking me in place.
Wicked girl.
I reach between our bodies and stroke her folds. She’s ready all right. Ready for me. This beautiful, strong-willed woman wants me to claim her body, to be her first ever lover. I’ve never been anyone’s first before, and I wasn’t expecting to ever be. But Uma came along and chose to bestow that privilege upon me.
Who am I to say no?
With guilt and doubts retreating from my heart, the glee that’s been there all along expands, filling the vacuum. My mind almost melts with the rush of knowing that I’m about to bury myself in Uma’s tight, wet heat… I hope to God she’ll enjoy it as much as I will.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you,” I say. “If you’d rather I stopped.”
“I promise.”
My heart hammering in my chest, I press against her entrance.
Slowly. Gently.
First timer.
Her fingers dig into my back. She frowns a little, as I apply more pressure. I thrust. She flinches. I expect her to ask me to stop, but she doesn’t. She pushes against me.
Emboldened, I plunge into her.
She lets out a groan of pain, her eyes watering.
I still and search her face. “Mon amour…?”
“It’s OK,” she murmurs, smiling weakly. “Not half as bad as my sister had painted it.”
Thank God. “Can you take more?”
She nods.
I lever myself on outstretched arms, and we both watch as I push a little deeper into her. Then a little more. And then more. I kiss her between thrusts. So tight. So hot. Her groans turn into soft whimpers, and she writhes beneath me, clutching me with her arms and legs.
When I’m sheathed inside her, I search her face again. Uma’s eyes are closed, and her expression has shifted from pained to relaxed.
Are her cheeks flushed?
Is my little ginger candy enjoying her first time?
I withdraw a little and push in. She gasps. Another withdrawal and thrust. A throaty moan. Soon, we settle into a rhythm that she seems to enjoy. I strain to keep it slow and gentle when there’s nothing I want more than to sink in to the hilt, as deep as her body will allow. As if that would somehow brand her as mine.
Only mine.
I startle. Why am I feeling that way? I’m not the possessive type. Besides, I have no right to be possessive with Uma. She’s free to go back to Nepal if that’s what she wants. She’s free to make love to whomever she chooses.
I don’t want her to.
She opens her eyes. “Why did you stop?”
I say nothing and just stare at her face.
“I’m doing great, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says before nodding with feigned aplomb. “You may resume.”
My lips curl up. “Thank you. May I go faster?”
“Yes.”
I give her an are-you-sure look.
“I need you to go faster,” she says.
God help me.
She shifts, spreading her legs wider and tilting her hips to give me better access.
I withdraw almost fully and plunge into her in a long, deep stroke. She moans. Her voice is husky and sexy as hell, the last trace of pain gone from it.
That’s all I needed to hear to give in to what my body demands. No more holding back. She said she needed it, and I’m going to give her exactly what she asked for.
As I pound into her, my thrusts deep and hard, she bucks and our bodies slap against each other. My ears ring, and my vision goes blurry. Control slips away, but I resist. I don’t peak yet.
Uma closes her eyes and presses the back of her head into the pillow. Each time I drive in, her lips part on a gasp and the sounds she makes grow louder and wilder. She’s letting go completely, abandoning herself to the pleasure of our joining.
Come for me.
It’s preposterous to expect a woman to climax the first time she has penetrative sex, but seeing how incredibly receptive Uma is, she just might.
I want to take her there.
Leaning on one forearm, I pet her sweet little breasts, glide my hand down her belly and rub her between her legs.
She arches her back. “Oh my God! Zach, please…”
“Please what?” I whisper against her temple.
“It’s too much—”
“You’re hurting?”
“No. I’m loving this.” A moan escapes her lips as I drive into her. “But, with your hand, it’s too much, too… intense. More than I can bear.”
“That means you’re close.” I brush a kiss on her lips. “Just relax into it, chaton, and let yourself come.”
She peers at me as if deciding if she can trust my promise and nods.
I take her mouth again, harder this time, pushing my tongue between her lips at the same time as I plunge into her heat. I do this again, and again, and again, until she cries out and her muscles spasm around me.
A few more jerky thrusts, I climax, too—hard and sweet—and collapse on top of her.
Fevered words tumble from my mouth as I roll off to my side, so I won’t crush her. I have no idea what I’m saying, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s smiling.
She looks happy.
Ten or maybe twenty minutes later, I fetch a towel from the bathroom and wipe her legs. Before I cast it aside and lie down next to her, I glimpse dark smudges on it and remember the implications of what we just did.
Uma touches my hand. “Hey, don�
��t look so glum! It was totally worth it.”
My heart lightens when I see her smile, and I stretch out beside her. She nestles her head in the crook of my arm. I stroke her face softly, delving my fingers into her thick hair.
After a few moments like that, all my thoughts and worries retreat. The only thing that remains is a feeling of profound satisfaction. Peacefulness.
Contentment.
FOURTEEN
Uma
It’s TV dinner night.
“I want to watch Star Wars,” Sam declares.
I glance at Zach who shrugs a why-not.
Sam pulls a boxed set from the shelf and climbs down from the chair. “We’ll watch the original trilogy.”
Zach’s eyebrows go up. “Wow. You know what a trilogy is. I’m impressed.”
“Everyone knows what a trilogy is,” Sam says.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” I do my best to sound convincing. “What is it?”
He grins, visibly happy to explain something to a grown-up. “A trilogy is three DVDs in one box.”
“Of course,” I say, lifting my embroidery frame to cover my mouth.
Zach high-fives him. “Best. Definition. Ever.”
Sam’s grin reaches his ears as he fumbles with the discs and the remote.
“It’s gorgeous.” Zach points to the taut silk in my hands. “If you don’t get an A for this, I’ll have words with your teacher.”
I smile. “My stitching is decent, but my beadwork has room for improvement.”
He peers at the textured design I’m creating with seed and bugle interspersed with gold sequins and tiny seashells. “What are you talking about? I don’t see a bead out of place.”
As he says this, he covers my hand on the frame with his, big and warm. Our eyes meet, and then we both glance at Sam who’s staring at the screen, his lips moving as he reads the DVD menu. Without taking his eyes off Sam, Zach gives my hand a gentle squeeze and strokes it with the pads of his fingers.
My lids slide shut.
The Star Wars opening theme sounds from the television. Zach lets go of my hand. Sam spins around and jumps onto the couch between Zach and me.
As Luke Skywalker’s destiny unfolds, I listen to the onscreen action and try to get on with my embroidery project. But with Zach sitting so close, with his left arm stretched along the back of the couch behind Sam and his fingertips caressing my cheek, concentrating on my work is hard.
It becomes impossible when my mind flashes images of what he’ll likely do and say to me a couple of hours from now.
“Mon amour,” he’d whispered at one point during our first night when he’d pushed through my hymen, and I’d cringed.
He murmured my name after that and called me chaton—a kitten—and all sorts of silly things like ma petite puce. You must be French if you call your lover “my little flea.” He whispered words of comfort and encouragement as he inched deeper, stretching me to the point where the thrill of our joining gave way to pain.
“It won’t hurt next time, chaton,” he’d said. “And the more we do this, the more you’ll enjoy it.”
He hadn’t lied.
We made love again the following night, and every night since then, for over a week now. When he enters me, no matter how hard or deep, I feel no more stinging, no more soreness. Only pleasure. I’ve lost count of the orgasms and the quirky endearments I’ve been treated to throughout the week. Ma choupette—my little female cabbage—tops the wackiness chart at this point.
But he’s been careful not to call me his amour again.
Just as I’ve been careful not to call him mine.
What a shame that avoiding those words can’t help me keep in check the unwieldy thing growing in my heart!
Actually, that thing is done growing.
Sometime over the past week, it reached adult size and filled every part of my body, mind, and soul.
I love Zach.
Back in high school when my friends and I were into hoarding words of wisdom on our social media accounts, someone shared a quote that stayed with me. “There are three kinds of attraction a man and a woman can feel for each other. The attraction of souls forms friendship. The attraction of minds forms respect. The attraction of bodies forms passion. Those three attractions together form love.”
Whether we owe that insight to an ancient Hindu philosopher or to a drug-fueled hippie from California, I do not know, and frankly, I do not care.
My experience has just proven it true.
I feel the deepest respect and true friendship for Noah.
But my body has never hungered for him.
The other day, I asked him to come by for a chat. What a relief it was for both of us to admit we weren’t in love with each other! It turned out he’d never told his mom he loved me, just as I’d never told her I loved him. Marguerite had been stretching the truth all this time, no doubt convinced that all we needed was a nudge in the right direction.
Noah told me he was in love with Sophie, but I couldn’t confess to him my feelings for Zach. Maybe because I don’t think our relationship is going anywhere.
If we can call it a relationship.
“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,” Obi-Wan Kenobi says to Luke Skywalker.
Sam turns to Zach. “What’s a ‘wretched hive of scum and villainy’?”
In the middle of Zach’s explanation, the doorbell rings.
I look at Zach. “Are you expecting someone?”
He shakes his head and heads downstairs.
Two minutes later, he returns to the family room with Colette.
“Hi there,” she says, taking in our cozy setup.
I wave hello.
“Hi, Colette,” Sam says without taking his eyes off the screen.
She turns to Zach. “He’s watching Star Wars.”
“Yes.”
She gives him a hard stare and shrugs as if to say, I disapprove, but it’s your call. “May I join in the fun?”
“Of course.” Zach points to the finger foods on the coffee table. “Hungry?”
“A bit.”
“I’ll get you a plate and a glass.”
While he’s in the kitchen, Colette takes his place on the couch. My eyes are trained on my needle, but my peripheral vision registers that she’s studying me, her expression stern.
Shouldn’t she be looking at Sam instead?
“Psst!” She arches an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be out having fun with young people your own age?”
I hold up my frame. “Must finish this by December or I won’t get my certificate.”
“It’s still October—you have plenty of time,” she says.
Zach comes in with a tray for her. “Haute couture embroidery is very time-consuming. It may take hundreds of hours of work to complete a project.”
Colette gives him a surprised glance. “You’re well informed.”
He smiles.
She loads her plate with snacks. “Well, what you said explains why that designer gown you bought me in Venice was so darned expensive.”
Zach plonks himself into an armchair without offering a comment.
All I can think about until the credits roll is “Venice.” Had Colette and Zach traveled there before Sam was born? Or was it a more recent trip the two of them had made before I arrived? What if it was more recent still, a one-day trip he could’ve made last month when he played in Milan?
I’ve spent a good deal of time wondering if he ever accepted Colette’s dinner invitation. In the end, I chose to believe he hadn’t. But what if he had? What if he went further, taking her out after that so they could discuss her reentry into Sam’s life?
Into Sam and Zach’s life.
No way.
He wouldn’t do that, not while he’s sleeping with me.
Then again, why would sleeping with the au pair prevent him from envisaging a rapprochement with his child’s mother?
By the time Colette leaves, I’m a wreck.
Zach and I clean up, and I head to my room while he puts Sam to bed.
He knocks on my door around nine-thirty. “I need a couple of hours to go through my mail and handle a tricky issue.”
“OK,” I say, my nose in a book.
I hear him step inside. “Don’t wait up for me, if you’re tired. When I’m done, I’ll just sneak into your bed.”
“Do you mind…” I look up at him. “Do you mind if we sleep each in our own rooms tonight?”
He frowns. “I’m off to Australia tomorrow, remember? We won’t see each other for a whole week.”
“I know… But I…”
I’m too weak and down to be around you now.
Thing is, I don’t trust myself not to ask Zach all those questions about him and Colette, and maybe even about him and me. They might put him off. He might decide I’m too needy. He might—
“I’m on my period,” I blurt.
“So what?” He shrugs. “If you don’t want to have sex, we won’t have sex. We’ll just cuddle and sleep.”
I wrinkle my nose in a silent plea.
He gives me a tight smile. “Whatever the lady desires.”
And then he exits my room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Setting the book aside, I drop my head in my hands.
You’re done for, Uma. And here’s why.
Zach may crave my body. I may be crazy about him. I may adore his little boy, and Sam may genuinely care for me.
But none of it can alter the truth of who I am in this home.
And of who I am not.
FIFTEEN
Zach
We’re losing.
The guys are doing all they can but with both Noah and me clearly not in top form, Azur de Nice—one of the best clubs in France—has an edge.
I should’ve taken a sleeping pill on the plane from Sydney. Now, I only have my blurry mind and eight minutes of the last quarter to try and push my body beyond its limits.
Problem is, the opponent’s entire team is focused on not giving me a chance to shoot.
Right now, there are just too many of them shoving, hitting, pulling, and hanging on me to handle. Valentin, who’s helping me fend them off is bleeding from his nose and his right temple. He must’ve taken a punch or five for me.
