And he stops.
“No,” I cry. And his lips are back on me.
By the fourth time he brings me to an almost breaking point and unceremoniously halts, I start begging.
“Sebastian, stop torturing me. I can’t take it anymore.”
In place of an answer, he props his arms on either side of my legs and pushes himself up to stand. Silently, staring at me, he shoves his hand into his front pocket and produces a condom. He quickly discards his clothes. I drink him in as he covers himself, aching for him to touch me again. His hand fists his significant, strained shaft, and the other rolls the condom down. His abs slightly twitch at the action and I gape at him fascinated, dazed by his exquisiteness and by my urgent need for him. He settles between my parted legs and guides himself above me, teasing me. I’m literally shaking, holding my breath, waiting. I rise my pelvis to encourage him.
And he sinks into me.
But stays halfway out.
“Sebastian,” I almost scream, at the verge of losing my sanity.
“No running again. Next time you talk to me.”
I nod. I’d agree to anything that he says at this very moment, as long as he gives me what I want.
And he does.
Oh, my God.
Oh. My. God.
He moves in me. Heavenly. In precise, perfect motions that hit deep and wonderful. His mouth meets mine in a wild game of domination. He picks up the pace of thrusts, artfully playing on each of my aroused nerve endings.
And I come for him so hard, the world around me blackens. His name strings out of my lips in a chant. The orgasm comes in waves, spiraling from the center of my body to every part of me. The high is so strong I’m not even with him as he continues to thrust in me, rapidly and forcefully. I’m too caught up in the sensation enfolding me. I never in my life have felt it as resilient, as mind and body shattering. It’s too much and it’s beyond perfect.
Some long moments after, or hours for all I know, Sebastian finally stiffens and then groans my name before falling on me.
He tips his head back from my neck and lightly presses a kiss to my mouth before rolling to my side. We both lie in silence, bringing our heart rates and breaths to steady.
“Wow. That was . . .” I whisper.
“Pleased with the service?” His voice husky, lined with amusement.
“It was beyond any expectations.”
We both lightly chuckle, spent and blissfully exhausted.
“Edging?” I ask now that I’ve gathered my wits about me.
“Uh-huh. It’s when you bring yourself or your partner to the edge, stop just before the release, and repeat it several times. Eventually, the orgasm is more intense.” His lips impishly crook. “And my mom always says, ‘hay más felicidad en dar que en recibir.’”
I translate his words in my head and end up mirroring his grin. There is greater joy in giving than in receiving. Smart woman, his mother. Did an impressive job raising and educating such a giving son.
“Oh.” Oh, wow.
“Oh?” He turns his head to look at me.
“Oh, I like it. Very much.” His lips tug higher at the edge.
“Duly noted.”
. . .
“So, I have this business event next weekend,” Sebastian says as he passes me a glass of wine. We are having a light dinner on the porch after we’ve finally left the bedroom to refuel. I lean my back onto the fluffy crocheted pillow resting on the arm of my swing. My feet rest on Sebastian’s lap as he lightly rocks us with a gentle motion of his legs.
“What business event?” I ask and take a bite of my pan con tomate. Divine.
“Wine tasting. I’d like you to join me.”
I send him a glance over the rim of my glass.
“It’s over the weekend. I have a couple of seminars to give and a bit of mingling to do, but I’ll be free in the evenings. It’s in Masquefa.” His eyes search mine. “What do you say?”
I quickly evaluate the implications. “It’s your family’s business that you’re running, right?”
He affirms with a nod. Sebastian sets his wine glass onto a small mosaic end table by the swing.
“Will they also be there?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I’ll pass this time.” I don’t miss the flit twitch of his lips at my reply.
“Why?”
“As I’ve mentioned before, I think I’d rather have our ‘agreement’ kept as it is.”
“What agreement?” He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Listen, I’m not into arguing again, just think about it. I really want you there with me. It’s a beautiful place, good food, good wine. We’ll have a great time.”
I’ve already made up my mind. I’m not going. But I leave it to rest at this point. I, too, have zero inclination to argue, again.
“I’ll think about it,” I murmur.
He nods, gazing ahead at the night as it colors the sky and the sea in a blanket of velvety black. Slowly, Sebastian cranes his neck to look my way. With our eyes firmly secured, he slowly inclines my way. I follow his lead and lean closer till our breaths mix. We kiss with the softest of touches. The light night breeze flutters across my skin as Sebastian’s lips brush mine again, warm and supple.
“Let’s take it inside,” I murmur to his lips.
. . .
It should be long past midnight when we finally disengage from devouring each other, once more. I’m tired, spent, and utterly sated. My head rests on Sebastian’s bare chest, his arm around my shoulder. Sebastian talks and I listen, eagerly indulging in his voice and his accent.
“It’s a grape originating in Jerez, here in Spain, which we recently brought to our smaller sixty-acre vineyard. In that one, which is my favorite, we focus on making balanced, ripe wines that reflect the soils and climate’s typicity. In order to get the signature characteristics of the grape from which it was produced, you need to start picking grapes at their ideal ripeness and then preserve that character through the actual winemaking process. I’m quite pleased with the results so far.” He turns to plant a light kiss on my shoulder. “Okay, enough about my work. I want to hear more about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Tell me about your family,” he says in a soft voice, his finger drawing small circles on skin.
“Honestly, there’s not much to tell. I’m an only child. My mom was a stay at home mom who took the role of a perfect housewife once I left home. My dad is the epitome of a hardworking, kind man.”
“Remind me, what’s ‘epitome’?” Sebastian stops me. His English is nearly fluent; I tend to forget that it’s not his mother tongue.
“It’s the essence, ultimate type.”
He nods.
“Anyhow, he retired last year after working forever for the IRS, and I guess now he’s working on trying to survive full doses of my mom on a daily basis.” We both chuckle. Only mine has nothing to do with humor. “What about your family? Do you have any siblings?” I ask, deliberately redirecting the attention back to him.
“Two older sisters, Bianca and Amaia. They sort of spoiled me rotten growing up. Although they gave me plenty of shit, especially when we got older, and I was very much into their friends.”
“I see, so older ladies is your thing.”
He lightly chuckles.
“I’d never admit to that. Anyhow, it’s not important. What’s important is that my current thing is you.” It’s my turn to smile and for the warmness in my stomach to expand. “Bianca lives with her boyfriend in Madrid. She’s a primary school teacher. And Amaia is studying to become a vet abroad in the UK. I adore them both. We are pretty tight. They’ll like you.”
I disregard the last comment albeit it powders warmness in my belly. “That’s nice. And your parents?”
“Well, my mom is the epitome of a Spanish lady. She’s beautiful, elegant, smart, and has my father by the balls.” He snorts a chuckle and I grin at the dark ceiling. “And her kids are al
ways her first priority. My father is a good man, a little rough around the edges. But his family always comes first. He worked me to the bones before he let me step foot into the office that was always waiting for me. He didn’t show me the ropes; he’d hit me with them so I’d know nothing was guaranteed. He made sure I knew I had to prove myself first.”
He speaks passionately about his work and I listen, wrapped up in the moment. In the intimacy. The mystic dimness, the pulse of his voice inside of me, the gentle caress of his fingers on my skin, the subtle trace of his warm, masculine scent. It’s dark and it’s intimate and our quiet little whispers draw us closer . . . against any of my sensible wills.
“Hey,” he whispers after a long while in which we lie in pleasant silence, his fingers lightly brushing my hair while I’m snuggled on his chest.
“Hmmm . . .”
“Aren’t you going to kick me out?”
I smile to his skin. “Later,” I mumble, feigning a sleepy voice.
I can sense him smile as he tucks me closer under his arm.
Early dawn light is just starting to drip through the curtains, but I couldn’t be more awake. Every part of me is awake, especially my overloaded mind. Overloaded with everything Sebastian and this night.
The thrill of visiting his place.
Him making me dinner.
The stub of pain, the sting of jealousy, seeing that note.
Him “edging” me.
His beauty, his charm, his warmness.
Him.
Us.
This warm, fuzzy feeling that enfolds me and won’t leave.
How serene I feel in his arms.
And mostly, how I don’t want to, and shouldn’t feel this way. I’ve let this evening take a turn I’m not ready to repeat.
Chapter 13
“Infidelity”
Skunk Anansie
I leave my hand on the door, slowly soaring down from the impact of the Sebastian effect. The beam illuminating my face won’t leave even when I turn on my heels, heading to start my day. I eventually pushed Sebastian out the door as I promised him, only this time it was after he spent the night. He woke up with a start, hurriedly fishing his clothes from the flotsam and jetsam of our evening together. After downing a double espresso and giving me a kiss that still feels hot on my lips, he left. I take another step toward the bedroom and stop at once when my eyes hone in on the facing down photo.
Somewhat astonished, I lift Kai’s and my photo to stand upright. I shake my head. He’s done it again. Somewhere between kissing me silly and leaving my place, Sebastian turned the framed picture on its face. I let out a short giggle at the absurdity of the notion. As I take another step, I’m stopped again, this time by knocks on my door. The smile returns to my lips at the thought that it might be Sebastian.
My face scrunches in puzzlement as I open the door. The last person I’d ever expect to show up at my doorstep stands before me, puffing smoke in a whistle-like huff from the side of her mouth, and says, “Bonjour, so it was Sebastian that just left, oui?”
My mouth opens to speak, but words fail me with the many concerns marching through my mind. Beginning with what on Earth is the French bitch doing at my doorstep? To how bad is it that she, of all people, knows Sebastian just left my place? And mainly, what the hell is the French bitch doing at my doorstep!
“You can relax, chéri,” she mutters. “I have greater things on my mind,” she adds and proceeds to invade my home, making me sidestep as she lets herself in.
I gaze at her back and then at the door and shut it closed.
“Um, coffee?”
“Scotch.”
My eyebrows lift up.
“I don’t have any strong stuff around here; the strongest might be red wine.”
“That’ll do.”
Okay . . .
I fix myself another cup of coffee and a glass of wine for my surprise guest who’s sitting on the sofa, staring out the window.
I hand Dominique her drink and take a seat in my generously sized, gray upholstered recliner, studying her cautiously.
“So,” I start, wanting to get some hint of the nature of this unusual visit. My lips clamp at once as I watch Dominique down the glass in one long, not her usual elegant grace, series of swallows. My stare widens when she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
She sets the glass back down and says to the table where her eyes are directed, “I didn’t want any empty consolations. I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to bitch it out as you Americans say.”
I nod, still, to be frank, mildly staggered.
“I just found out dzat my beloved husband has been screwing his apprentice for God knows how long.” She shakes her head. “Dzey are in love,” she adds with utter scorn. I cringe with empathy. “Je suis un tel cliché.” She sighs. “I'm such a cliché. I gave up my dream for a man who gave up on me a long time ago, only I wasn’t willing to see it.”
“You are not a cliché, things like this unfortunately happen. People grow apart, people change.”
“Change enough to fuck a twenty somedzing under my nose?” She sends me a bitter smile and turns to pour herself another serving of wine. “But you know what; the fault is not his alone. I decided to live in a different city. I put the distance between us. A long distance relationship is a long distance disaster waiting to happen. People grow apart; closeness, physical connection, intimacy helps concur obstacles. It's not the cure, but it sure helps the lifeline pulse. He wouldn’t have been looking had he had it all . . . you don’t go looking when there’s nothing missing.”
“Dominique, I don’t think you did anything wrong. After being together for so long, you don’t hurt your partner this way. You can talk, say how you feel, instead of choosing the easiest way, sans confrontation.”
“Allez savoir pourquoi, I’m not sure where dzis is coming from, but I want to do somedzing stupid. I’m so mad. I want to hurt him. I want to step out of my poise and do somedzing vindictive and juvenile, like burn his clothes or physically injure him.”
“Oh, there’s a reason and a mighty good one. He betrayed your trust; he cheated on you, for heaven’s sake. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t stop at burning things, I might go full-on Lorena Bobbitt.”
“Lorena Bobbitt?”
“Um, she’s famous for chopping her husband’s penis off for being unfaithful.”
“Très joli! A genius.” She takes another sip of her wine and levels her eyes with mine. “I like you, Liv.”
“Well, I think I’ve just became fond of you, too.” I send her a genuine smile.
“So friend, would you help me pull off an embarrassedly juvenile stunt and never again speak of it?”
“My friend, I’d be honored to.”
. . .
“Dominique, I can’t let you do this, don’t! It’s unholy to burn Dior. We’ll go to hell.” She twists her mouth and tosses the sacred garment into a burning pile. I cringe, cross myself, and send a silent prayer of forgiveness to the gods of haute couture. Dominique lets out an amused snort.
We both place our legs crossed by our ankles on the railing of Dominique’s elegant beach house balcony. We stare ahead at the waves; the fire burning couture inside a metal barrel between us sends streams of gentle heat our way while dancing in joy.
“What’s next for you?” I ask and Dominique shrugs.
It takes her a few good moments to finally say, “I like it here, I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to France.”
“I like it here, too. More than I thought I would,” I murmur.
“I came here because of him, dzanks to him, and I dzink I’ll stay here for me.” Her lips coil in a painful smile. “Emotions are a funny thing. It amazes me how much resentment you can suddenly hold for someone who you’ve loved and admired for the greater part of your life.”
I nod. Her words reverberate inside of me, and even though she is talking about her husband, the vision of my mother appears before my eyes.
“Alo
rs, now dzat dze burning part has been successfully accomplished, tell me about Sebastian.”
A reflexive smile hones in on my lips at the way Dominique pronounces Sebastian’s name, in a nasal French twang. Say-bas-tyawn.
I make sure to keep my stare fixated ahead while saying, “Not much to tell.”
She snorts in response, prompting me to look her way, “Having Sebastian leave your house in the morning cannot be a ‘not much to tell’ answer.”
“We are seeing each other, I guess. Casually.”
Her trimmed eyebrow rises, encouraging me to go on.
“Dominique, it is what it is, and whatever it is, I’d like to keep it under wraps. It’s nothing that will last too long, so no need to make an issue out of it.” The sting I feel saying the latter part of my sentence surprises me.
“Why?”
“What do you mean by ‘why’?’”
“Why would it have to end soon?”
“He is young, younger than me, that is. We’re both not looking for anything beyond having a good time with each other. And I’m planning to go back eventually, so yeah.”
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t go and declare anything and just flow widz it. Why do you have to already set a pending termination date?”
So I won’t get hurt . . .
I smile at the notion of the tight embrace Dominique and I depart with.
“I like this warmer version of you,” I tease her as I step down the first stair of her balcony.
“Don’t get used to it,” she admonishes. “I have a reputation to keep.”
Chapter 14
“All You Never Say”
Birdy
“Happy anniversary,” Sebastian announces, leaving me staggered both by his kiss and, to a greater extent, by said declaration.
“Come again?”
“I will, soon.” He grins at me. My lips pull up at the playful sin he transmits.
“Anniversary?”
Leaving Me Behind Page 13
