by Tina Donahue
“Sundays and Wednesdays.”
“I get Mondays and Wednesdays. We’ll do your portrait tomorrow when we’re both free.”
Marnie nodded more readily than she would have believed. “Do you want to sketch me here?”
“Too many distractions. If a walk-in arrived, someone might draft me for the job. Would you mind posing outside?”
Very much. “Ah, I suppose you could come to my apartment.”
“You’re sure?”
He seemed so concerned about her feelings and comfort level, Marnie suddenly was certain. “Yeah. There won’t be any distractions there. Do you know where Alice’s Wonderland is?” She lived above the shop, Alice having given her a great deal on the apartment. “I’m on the second floor.”
“I can find it. You like Castillo’s Cuban Cuisine?”
She’d spent many cool evenings sitting by her open windows, savoring the delectable scents coming from the restaurant—onion, garlic, beef, pork, chicken, fragrant pastries, her stomach always growling, mouth watering, no extra money to indulge. “Never tried it.”
Tor grinned. “You’re in for a treat. My uncle Rafe owns the place. I’ll bring us something from there, unless you’d prefer to eat in his restaurant.”
Having others surround them would have probably been best if not for her worry about Ethan. Marnie didn’t want to spend a meal with Tor constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting the worst. She shook her head. “My place is fine, if that’s okay with you.”
“Absolutely. Afternoon? Evening?”
“Five too soon?”
“Nope. I’ll get Rafe’s early bird special.”
“I’ll pay for half.” How, she wasn’t sure.
“No way. I get my food for free.” He grinned, making two dimples.
Marnie’s heart turned over. “You’re lucky.”
“Shrewd. My cousins get their tats and portraits of baptisms, confirmations, weddings, birthday parties, you name it, for nothing. A win-win for everyone. I have the menu on my smartphone.” Tor brought up the page and handed the device to Marnie. “Choose what you want while I get copies of the tats you like, so we’re set for tomorrow.”
Their first night together.
Chapter Three
After leaving Wicked Brand, Marnie was so deep in thought she reached the giftshop without realizing how she’d gotten there. Her mouth was dry, heart racing. She took another sip of Mountain Dew, not recalling when she’d taken or opened the soda Tor had offered. Had she said goodbye to him? Marnie couldn’t recall. Her last moments at the parlor were a haze, her excitement and uncertainty at seeing him tomorrow consuming most of her attention. Marnie wondered what she should wear, how she should act, what they would talk about.
Him, surely. Not only because Marnie wouldn’t talk about herself or Ethan, but because she was hungry for information on Tor’s art, needing to know where he got his ideas. How he was able to take a blank piece of paper—or skin, in the case of tattoos—and create such remarkable images. She tried to imagine when Tor had known he wanted to be an artist. As a kid? A teenager? Had the other kids given him hell for being artistic? No freaking way. He had the body of an athlete and was a thousand percent male.
He’d spoken of a brother and two sisters. Marnie pictured more siblings, along with his parents, and a large extended family. She bet he had tons of relatives and envied him for having people who cared. There was a time when she’d had aunts, uncles, cousins and her mother close by. All of them were gone now, because of Ethan, leaving her unprotected and alone.
Suddenly, the soda felt too cold in Marnie’s mouth and throat despite the steamy day. Like an unwanted tune, Tor’s earlier words started to play in her mind.
“Who did this to you?”
A reasonable question Marnie would consider asking if she’d seen similar scars on anyone else. Not that she’d been able to answer him or address the horror she’d heard in his deep, smooth voice. She’d changed the subject instead, wanting to remain firmly in the present, never bringing up the past, hoping he wouldn’t notice her evasiveness. Wondering what he might say when he did.
Like tomorrow night.
My God, they were going to be alone in her apartment then, facing each other, talking, speaking, possibly touching…
Her mind whirled with thoughts of Tor’s hands cradling her face as he tilted her head to the right or left until he had her in the perfect pose. She imagined his thumbs stroking her cheeks, him easing her hair from her shoulders, tucking a few strands behind her ears, his body close, heat and scent impossible to dismiss. At the thought, Marnie felt weightless yet weighed down, a curious combination. A dull, achy feeling settled in her pussy. Her nipples couldn’t get harder, the tips erect enough to sting slightly. Exactly as they would if Tor had taken them into his mouth and suckled, his tongue sweeping over her tightened areolas.
She trembled with intolerable desire. Moisture dampened her panties, her pussy preparing itself for his thick, hard cock…at least in her mind.
Better to remember her desires were only fantasy that could never become real.
“There you are,” Alice called, hurrying over as Marnie entered the deserted shop. Although the tattoo parlor had been humming with clients, the weather was apparently too stifling to bring customers here.
Alice studied her. “You were gone so long, I figured you actually talked to him. Good for you. What happened? What’s that?” She gestured to the large envelope in Marnie’s hand.
She’d forgotten about the copies Tor had made. God, her last minutes with him were a blank. “Pictures of tattoos he showed me to cover my scars. He had tons of designs. These are the ones I liked best.” Marnie lifted the envelope. “I still can’t decide which to choose. Want to see?”
“Sure. Are the pictures why you’re smiling so much?”
Huh? Marnie put the envelope on a counter and touched the side of her mouth. What she felt wasn’t a smile but a grin that was beginning to hurt her cheeks. She really had to get a grip. “He’s coming here tomorrow at five.”
“The shop?”
“My apartment.”
Alice beamed. “You have a date?”
“What? No. He’s going to sketch my face as a way for me to pay for the service.” She told Alice about the artwork Tor had sold today.
“Damn. He must be good.”
He’d been kind, gentle, funny. Marnie liked his teasing the best. She didn’t want anyone treating her as though she might break. All her life, she’d admired ballsy women who knew what they wanted and went after their dreams. The kind of person who laughed easily, loved with abandon, had no fear or regret. A woman who was a match for a guy like Tor. Marnie couldn’t see him with any other kind of woman. He was comfortable in his own skin, not needing to prove anything to anyone. “He’s amazing.”
“I can tell by how you look. Whether tomorrow is a date or not, what are you doing down here when you should be upstairs?”
Marnie shook her head, not following. “Lunch is over. Way over. I need to get back to work and make up for the extra time I took off.”
“You see anyone in here?” Alice gestured to the empty shop. “Go upstairs and do whatever you need to do to get your apartment ready for his visit tomorrow.”
Her place was already spotless. A lesson Marnie had learned from her mom, who’d been afraid to leave one speck of dirt on any surface. If she had, there would have been hell to pay. “Unless I decide to rearrange what little furniture I have, there’s not much to do.”
Alice handed her the envelope. “You can look at these pictures and decide what you want. You’ve waited a long time for this.”
Marnie hated to bring up the obvious but had to since Alice was clearly avoiding the subject. “Are we so slow you’re having trouble paying me?” Good God, was Alice going to lay her off?
“Of course not.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You’ve earned some time away from here—with pay. You never leave the shop befo
re ten even though you clock out at nine-thirty.”
“There’s stuff to do.”
Alice patted her arm. “Go upstairs and dream a little. You’re entitled.”
Maybe, but the notion still felt weird to Marnie. For as long as she could recall, she’d worried about everyone else’s comfort and happiness to the exclusion of her own. Marnie wasn’t certain she knew how to dream.
Once in her apartment, she stood in the middle of the clean, tidy space, the living room, kitchen and bedroom flowing into each other, no walls anywhere except for the ones that closed off the bathroom. The apartment smelled faintly of the lemon wax she’d used on the furniture Alice had provided. Marnie had come here with nothing, simply grateful to have escaped Ethan.
Peppy Latin music pumped from a passing car, mingling with the whoosh of the window air-conditioner trying to keep up with the oppressive heat.
Marnie regarded the envelope Tor had given her then looked at her laptop, the one luxury she’d allowed herself in order to take online courses from the university. She should use this extra time to study not dream.
Rather than powering up the computer, she brought the copies to her bed. The thought of Tor being here tomorrow made the mattress seem much larger than Marnie recalled. No way could she hide the bed from him, not even if she heaped her clothes, towels and sheets on top. Until now, she’d never worried about the arrangement of space in her tiny studio, since no one except Alice had been by.
Having anyone else visit hadn’t occurred to Marnie, until now.
Even with her worry about Ethan, she should have chosen the restaurant for her and Tor’s meal and persuaded him to sketch her downstairs in the shop. Alice wouldn’t have minded. The customers would be able to see Tor’s work, maybe ask him to do their portraits. He and Marnie would have a buffer of other people around them so they wouldn’t have to talk, laugh, get to know each other.
Problem was she wanted time alone with him, her hunger for intimacy continuing to build rather than diminish, despite her lingering caution.
Biting her lip, she finally slipped out of her panties, the crotch damp from her arousal.
Marnie stretched across the mattress, one arm pillowing her head, eyes closed, legs parted.
Her thoughts wandered.
She pictured vibrant flowers and butterflies gracing her arm and leg as she faced Tor naked and unashamed, waiting for him to undress. No, wait. He’d want her to strip him.
Smiling at the thought, Marnie eased her hand over her mound, playing with the curls between her legs, her mind filling with images of lowering Tor’s jeans and underwear, his meaty shaft springing free of his clothes, weighty balls hot in her hand, the ruddy skin lightly furred with short, dark hairs.
A pulse beat deep within her pussy. She rested her finger on her cleft, found the lips puffy and drenched with desire.
In her mind, she saw her tongue sweeping over Tor’s sac and imagined her smile at his sharp intake of breath caused by the sensations she’d created in him. His musky scent would invite Marnie to press her face into his thick tangle of curls and fill herself with his fragrance, masculine to the extreme.
She moaned quietly at the thought and touched her clit. Instantly, Marnie arched her back at her nub’s sensitivity, a riot of sensations filling her, wanton and exciting. Unable to resist, she stroked her clit once, twice, again and again, squirming at the pleasure racing through her. If she didn’t slow down, she’d come within seconds.
No way. She wanted this to last. She needed to dream.
Marnie’s thoughts returned to her fantasy of Tor. Silly, she knew, given they had no future.
The notion didn’t stop her in the least from imagining his rod in her hand, the heat and silkiness of his skin. A bead of pre-cum would have already seeped past the small slit in the head of his cock. Marnie imagined its salty taste, the unique flavor of his flesh as she slipped the crown inside her mouth, imprisoning that part of him as her pussy would eventually do. Or rather, her cunt.
With him, the word would be thrilling and seductive, not crude or demeaning. With him, nothing would be impossible or forbidden.
Marnie wanted his mouth on her breasts, on her clit, his hands exploring, cock thrusting into each of her openings, his big body pressed close, weight confining yet liberating, every inch of him setting her on fire, urging her to come.
She rubbed her clit hard and fast, the tension in her legs and pussy so unbearable Marnie had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. A few times, she tried to stop, wanting to draw out the pleasure.
Lust and longing wouldn’t allow her to pause. Images of Tor on top of her, his cock tunneled deep inside her sheath, their mouths joined in an impassioned kiss pushed Marnie even farther toward completion.
On a muffled groan, she shattered, bursts of heat warming her, perspiration coating her neck, her inner muscles contracting steadily with her release.
Spent, she struggled for air, her heart beating crazily.
Wasn’t enough. She wanted more, the floodgates suddenly open, her pent-up passion demanding its due.
Marnie ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and swore, frustrated with herself. She knew better than to want, hope, dream.
What in the hell is the matter with you? Haven’t you been through enough with Ethan and everything else? You want more of the same?
Not from Tor, never from him, he was different. Wasn’t he?
Marnie growled at her uncertainty and the position she’d put herself in—inviting him here when her bed wasn’t only a major distraction but an outrageous temptation, needing to be alone with him when he’d surely want to know stuff about her. Personal things Marnie didn’t want to discuss. Questions she’d never be willing to answer.
Like who had caused her scars, nearly killing her.
* * * * *
For Tor, Wednesday at five o’clock seemed as though it would never come. Generally, he spent his days off sketching or taking care of stuff such as grocery shopping, washing his clothes, hooking up with women he liked for a quick bite, movie, or other entertainment, followed by hours of sex.
Today, he woke at dawn and couldn’t get back to sleep. After a two-mile jog in the muggy air, he could barely breathe but still hadn’t put a dent in his restlessness. He wanted to see Marnie badly. Twice during his run, he’d passed the shop where she worked, peering at the second story of the brick building, at her windows.
She didn’t appear in any of them. The blinds remained tightly shut. Probably a good thing. Tor didn’t want her to think he was stalking her.
Fuck, where had all this desire come from? As a rule, he was always pleased to meet a new woman in order to get something intimate started, wild monkey sex the goal.
He wanted the same with Marnie and a pissing lot more. Tor’s desire to share conversation with her was overwhelming. He was starved for information—where had she come from, did her family live in the area, how many siblings did she have, what were her likes and dislikes as far as food, entertainment, life goals and other things were concerned?
Many of the women he’d known talked about themselves nonstop until he’d zoned out, nodding politely when they paused for air. Marnie had offered so little, she’d intrigued him. However, curiosity wasn’t the only reason he wanted to know more. She’d touched Tor in a way no other woman had, delighting him when she’d smiled at how his work could make her scars pretty. Troubling him when she’d reacted so intensely at his suggestion that she pose for a portrait.
The panic on her face had been beyond obvious, answering at least one question he’d had.
Whoever had hurt her wasn’t behind bars. If the prick had been, Marnie wouldn’t be terrified at the thought of her likeness being on the wall.
Was the goon in this city or another? Was he following her?
Each time Tor had run past Alice’s Wonderland, he’d searched the area for anyone who looked out of place. The only people he saw were middle-aged or elderly shoppers, their
faces red from the soupy air.
Somehow, he had to bring up the subject with her tonight. Not to pry but to see if Marnie needed protection. Tor would see she had as much as she needed. All he had to do was give Dante a call. The cops here would do anything for Dante…or for Tor, for that matter.
Only, how to approach such a troubling subject with Marnie?
Tor pondered the problem for most of the day and still lacked a solution by the time he reached her door, ten minutes ahead of schedule. One strap of his backpack hung over his shoulder, his art supplies inside. In his other arm, he carried a large bag of goodies from the restaurant, his stomach growling at the heavenly odors. There was boliche mechado for him, fricasé de pollo for Marnie, tamal cubano for them to share, and to top everything off, flan de caramelo for dessert.
He knocked, eager to share his bounty, along with whatever else Marnie allowed.
If she was here.
Despite his raps, seconds passed without her acknowledging him. Maybe she was in the bathroom. He knocked again.
“Tor?” Marnie asked through the door.
She’d answered so quickly this time, he realized she’d been there, on the other side, all along. Suddenly he noticed there was no peephole. Given what he suspected she’d been through with an ex-boyfriend or ex-husband, she should ask the building manager to install some security.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m a little early.”
“That’s okay.” There were three metal clunks and a pause before the door swung in.
Tor stared, unable to help himself. She had on a touch of mascara, clear gloss on her lips. Marnie’s hair looked and smelled freshly washed, her apartment scented with soap and her perfume. She’d worn another skirt tonight, one of those long jobs with lots of tiers, this one in a beautiful Indian print, the orange, gold and green threads complementing her coloring. Unlike her last skirt, the waistband of this one hung low, grazing her navel, the hem reaching her ankles, swishing just above her bare feet. He liked her long, slender toes.
Her top, made of a stretchy green fabric, had a scoop neck, sleeves long enough to cover the scars on her arm and ended approximately an inch below her breasts, baring her torso, hugging her curves.
