by Roya Carmen
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his words so quiet, I almost don’t hear them.
“Kiss me,” I say, thinking that if he doesn’t kiss me, I might just murder him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HE PRESSES HIS MOUTH tentatively against mine, and I melt. He wraps his large hands around my face and holds my mouth captive under his. My mouth opens for his, desperate to taste his tongue, feel its warmth. When I catch his bottom lip between my teeth, he groans into my mouth, and presses harder into me. A heat fills my entire core — it feels like I’ve waited for this forever.
He cruelly pulls his mouth from mine, and trails his warm tongue along the length of my neck, and gives me shivers. “I don’t care if it’s just for one week,” he whispers against my ear. “I’ll take anything I can get because I want you, Gabriella.”
I pull my mouth away, not wanting to let go of his hot breath, the taste of him. “I want this too… so bad.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” he asks, always the perfect gentleman.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
I’m shocked when he pulls from me to kneel on the bed. He comes to a stand, and my stomach drops. The room feels cold and empty. Is he playing games? He stands tall over the bed, and in one swift motion, he pulls the duvet off the bed, and a cold blast of air hits me. My pulse races. I can’t see his expression. I’m not sure what is happening.
Without a word, he leans down over me and warms my body again. He kisses me again, and my tongue begs for his, but he doesn’t stay there long. He slides his hot lean torso over the silk of my nightie. His nails dig into the flesh of my hips as he peels off my bottoms, so fast. His mouth explores the length of my legs. I can’t quite believe this is happening. I’m so aroused, I can barely breathe. He wraps his hands around my knees and pries my legs apart. He’s much bolder and rougher than I’d anticipated, and a small part of me is scared. He’s still very much a stranger, and I’m here with him, and no one knows where I am. But fuck, I’ve never been so turned on.
I think about John. I don’t feel guilty. I deserve this. Every second of this. I wonder if this is how John feels when he’s with Amanda.
He teases… butterfly kisses all along one thigh. He blows a hot breath on my sex, and drops soft kisses on my other thigh. I claw my fingers through his hair. “Please, Eli,” I beg and pull his head between my legs. When the heat of his mouth finally warms me, I close my eyes, throw my head back, and sink into the amazing sensation. It’s been way too long, and I know it won’t take me long. My moans echo against the walls as he slides his hot tongue down my pussy. I revel in the anticipation, the building pressure… nothing has ever felt so good. I let out a scream when I finally climax. I can’t even remember the last time I screamed like that.
He eases, and trails soft kisses along the curves of my torso. When he finally reaches my mouth, he kisses me deeply — I can taste myself on his lips. “I want you,” I whisper. I slide my hands over the curve of his ass, and pull his boxers down. He helps me along, and his lips never leave my skin. He makes his way to my mouth and kisses me again, but just for a second or two. He pulls away cruelly, and reaches into his night table. I watch him slide the latex over his erection, and it arouses me so much.
He leans down over me again. “Are you sure?” he asks again. “This is so much more complicated for you. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
I take him in my hands – he’s rock hard, and I want him inside me. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He sinks into me, slowly and gently. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and hook my legs around his hips, wanting him deeper. He exhales loudly as he presses into me, and breathes into my ear. “I’ve dreamed of this about a thousand times.”
I smile. “Me too.”
I think of John again. I blink him away. He has no right being here, between the two of us. This is our moment. Ours alone. I grab Eli’s face, and draw his mouth to mine. “Kiss me,” I beg.
His kiss makes me forget everything. I want to get lost in him, and I do. With every second, he brings me closer to pure bliss. He makes me come again, long and hard.
I’m hot and satiated as I lie in his arms. I trail a finger along his tattoos, and the delicious line under his navel. His skin is so soft and beautiful. I never want this moment to end, but my body’s need for sleep betrays me. My lids feel heavy, and my breathing slows as I sink into him. I fall asleep in his arms, blissful.
When I wake, I’m all alone, and my heart sinks a little at the sight of the empty bed. The sun peeks through the edges of the large window. The curtains are still closed, and the warm daylight calls to me. I hop out of bed and slide the curtains open. When I turn back, I notice a small statue perched at the edge of the bed with a note.
It’s a small replica of the Little Mermaid statue. I pick it up and study it — it’s pretty and would look great on my bookshelf, amongst my books, or possibly on my desk, functioning as a paper weight. The note reads:
A little something for the prettiest girl I know.
I smile. I don’t often think of myself as a girl, but he does make me feel like a girl. When I’m with him, I feel young again, fearless, and excited about life’s possibilities.
He walks in, wearing nothing but his lounge pants and a smile. If I stare too long, I might just pull him back to the bed for another round. “Good morning, sleepy head,” he says.
I look over at the clock. “It’s already past ten. I’ve slept about twelve hours. I hold the small statue in my hands. “Thank you for this.”
“I thought you’d like that.” he says.
“I do. I love it. When did you get this?!”
He scratches his sexy morning scruff. “Yesterday, at that gift shop,” he tells me.
I’m confused. “But I didn’t see you buy it.”
He grins. “Are you calling me a thief?”
So that’s what’s wrong with him — he’s a secret klepto. He likes to steal food and knick knacks. Seriously, there has to be something wrong with the guy — he’s too perfect.
“I snuck it by at the cash register when you weren’t looking,” he explains. “The fork was a red herring.”
I laugh. “Yes, the fork was definitely a distraction.”
He smiles. “I used to have one as a kid, and I would do that all the time… steal other people’s food in restaurants. It would drive my mother crazy,” he trails off, and I know he’s thinking about his mom. “When I saw it, I just had to buy it.”
I set the pretty little mermaid on the windowsill.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I made you an omelet.”
“You spoil me too much.”
The omelet is super tasty, and the fruit salad is perfect. “I feel like I’m at a fancy Bed and Breakfast,” I tell him, “and the most delicious thing about it is the host.”
He grins. “You are such a little flirt.”
“So what’s the plan today?” Honestly, I’d love to lie in bed with him all day, but I really don’t want to come off as sex-starved, which maybe I am a little.
“I thought we could go for a boat ride on the canal, and later go see your little mermaid.”
I clap my hands. “Yay!”
“Don’t get too excited,” he warns me. “The Little Mermaid might be the most overrated attraction in Copenhagen.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I just love her.”
“But first,” he says. “I want to take you for a ride on my Vespa.”
I hop like a little girl — no shame. “Yes, yes, yes.”
It doesn’t get better than this. The wind in my hair, my arms wrapped around his delicious torso, and the excitement of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. His Vespa rocks — all slick chrome and vintage-like curves — it’s a work of art, and it can fly. When you think of a scooter, you think slow, and little old men, but this Vespa is as fast as a motorcycle. My heart leaps and bounds as we zoom around bends in the road. I feel saf
e because he seems to know what he’s doing. I have my SUV to get around every day, and he has his Vespa.
I’m full of adrenaline when we get back to his place. He parks the Vespa back in the courtyard. It’s pretty and hidden from the rest of the world; benches, trees, and parking for scooters and small European cars, and even a bike rack.
“So, what d’ya think?!” he asks as he takes off his helmet. His smile makes my knees weak, or maybe it’s just getting off the Vespa, and having my feet back on land.
“I loved it,” I tell him.
He inches closer, and reaches for the clip of my helmet. I tilt my head up, and let him take charge. There’s something very intimate about the gesture — it is freaking hot! I close my eyes, imagining us the night before. “Can we do it again?” I ask.
“Right now?” he says. “You want to go back out?”
I shake my head. “No, I was talking about last night.” I bite my lip. “What we did last night.”
His beautiful eyes darken. “One track mind,” he teases.
“Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” he says, and pulls me in. He wraps both his hands around my face and draws my mouth to his. The warmth of his kiss makes me crazy, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to give this up. I blink the thought away — I just want to enjoy this moment. “Take me inside,” I breathe into his mouth.
We rush upstairs, and he slams the door behind us. He presses me against the wall, and kisses me again. The weight of his hand under my blouse feels wonderful. I can’t get enough of him. I stand on the tip of my toes, my mouth aching for his. I reach for his fly, eager. John’s face flashes before my eyes. Please don’t do this.
It’s already done.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ELI WRAPS A HAND AROUND the curve of my ass and with a quick push, shoves me up higher against the wall. I wrap my legs around him, my mouth not letting go of his. My fantasy of wall sex is about to come true.
He turns and carries me to the bed. I’m both shocked and impressed — I’m no lightweight. When we get there, we both crash down on the bed.
He kisses me softly, and his kiss is so sweet, it breaks my heart a little. I’m already getting attached — I can’t help it. He’s already under my skin. How can I ever let him go? This was meant to be sex only, but now, it’s already so much more.
“I want to look at you,” he says. “Last night was amazing, but I barely got to sneak a peek.”
I laugh. “What if I don’t want you to look at me,” I say. I’m far from perfect, still a bit heavy, even after all the weight I’ve lost. I’ve seen photos of Clara — she was flawless, and very fit. I’m nothing like her. I desperately want him to touch me, but I don’t want him to see me.
He bites his lip and shakes his head. “You’re beautiful, Gabriella, and I want to see all of you.” He closes the distance between us, and gently pulls up the hem of my sweater. He toys with at the waistband of my pants as he kisses me softly, just above my belly button.
The feel of his lips on my skin makes me melt. I eagerly peel off my sweater, and he slowly slides his mouth up to my breasts.
“Gorgeous.” He traces his tongue along the lace trim of my bra, but he doesn’t explore. He teases.
I reach for his shirt, and pull it over his head. I bite my lip at the sight of his tattooed torso and shoulder — he’s a work of art. I trail my finger along the curves of the design, along the angel’s wings. “What’s the story here?” I ask.
A bittersweet smile curves his lips. “It’s my mother,” he says. “The angel is my mother, and I keep her right here, right on my heart.”
I kiss the angel, and drag my mouth down the ridges of his stomach. He groans loudly, and there’s nothing I love more than the sound of his pleasure. I slide down below his navel, free him from his jeans, and take him in my mouth, but just for a few seconds. I’m teasing too.
He reaches for the fly of my Capri pants, and works it swiftly. Before long, I’m in my bra and panties; a pretty white lace set. I’m vulnerable under his eyes. I wonder if he likes what he sees. I wonder if he thinks I’m pretty.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, almost as if he can read my thoughts. “God… I can’t stop looking at you.”
He studies me for the longest time, all the while trailing a hand along my curves. He hooks a finger under the strap of my bra. “But I’m afraid this has to go,” he says with a pout.
I laugh. “What a shame.”
“Yes, it’s a shame,” he agrees as he reaches back and unclasps my bra. I peel it off, wanting him to explore me. He bends his head, and takes my breast in his mouth. I moan in pleasure as I pull his jeans over his delicious ass.
Soon, we’re both almost naked, and I don’t feel insecure anymore. I just want him to love me. He hooks a finger in the band of my panties, and peels them off slowly. He showers me with soft kisses, and makes love to me.
For the second time. I’m counting.
We hop on the canal boat tour boat. The guide takes my hand and helps me in — he’s a tall and attractive man; tight navy sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, all muscles and tattoos, a real-life Popeye.
We take a seat next to all the tourists. “You like that guy,” Eli teases.
I laugh. “Are you jealous?”
He scowls. “A bit.”
“There’s no one but you,” I tell him. There isn’t — he’s all I think about, all I want.
“So what’s this obsession with the Little Mermaid?” he asks.
“It was my favorite fairy tale growing up,” I tell him.
He takes my hand in his, and studies me intently. I’ve never felt so important and interesting. I know I’m very ordinary, but he seems to think I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.
“She’s the most adventurous of all the princesses. She longs to experience a different world. And she’s willing to do anything for love.”
“Are you adventurous?” he asks.
“Not really,” I tell him. “I kind of wish I were. This is probably the wildest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Really?! A canal boat tour?” he teases.
I shake my head. “You know what I mean… being here with you.”
He doesn’t say a thing. He just smiles, and that’s perfect.
“Well, I have had a chance to see many parts of the world… John likes to travel.”
“Yes, John,” he says. Every time I mention John, Eli’s face seems to still and fade. The spark in his eyes and the curve of his lips melt away. I decide not to mention him again.
The boat finally takes off, and we see all the sites; the opera house, past where the old ferry station used to be (it’s now a cool restaurant), countless bridges, and the Little Mermaid. She’s surrounded by a bunch of tourists snapping photos, and she’s so small. I thought she’d be huge.
We have lunch in Nyhavn again, in a secluded spot at a cozy little restaurant. We are surrounded by brick walls and trees tangled in lights — it’s very romantic. I order the cheese chicken taco, and he has the salmon salad, and we share a plate of cheese (brie, blue, and goat cheese). Turns out, we both love cheese. John is lactose intolerant and hates cheese.
“Do you remember how it all started for us,” I ask him, curious to see if he even remembers.
He smiles, and sets down his fork. “I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Friday afternoon. I was at my studio, taking a break, and I finally got the courage to write to you.”
I revel at the thought of him in his studio, all dirty and sweaty, tapping at his phone, talking to little old me. “What do you mean... ‘finally got the courage’?”
“I’d been stalking you for a while already by then,” he confesses.
My eyes grow wide. My taco hangs mid-air in my hands. “Really?!”
He laughs. “Really.”
“Well, I was stalking you too. I think you know that… I was pretty obvious, liking all your posts. I just loved your art.”
&
nbsp; “I know… you were completely harmless,” he says, “were…”
“So my art caught your attention,” I venture, fishing for a compliment.
“It did. It was so bright…a little stroke of color in my often gloomy days.”
My smile fades. “Your days are gloomy?!”
He smiles. “No… it’s just the weather here, you know, and the divorce… I wasn’t in a good place, and then you came along and completely brightened up my world.”
Holy hell.
Tears threaten to escape. I had no idea that I meant as much to him as he did to me. I wasn’t just another distraction, I wasn’t just one of many. I really meant something.
“You were the same to me, Eli,” I confess.
“Were you not happy?!” he asks, and those eyes of his almost make me cry because they’re just so striking, and full of genuine concern.
“I was… it’s just, it can get gloomy where I live too,” I try to explain. “And sometimes I feel lonely. I have a husband, two sweet kids, and friends, yet I feel lonely… it makes no sense.”
He takes my hand in his. “It makes total sense. Humans need to connect… it’s part of our nature.”
We both fall into silence. We melt into the clatter of dishes and the buzz of conversations around us. Finally, he smiles and says, “But it wasn’t your art that first caught my attention.”
“Really?! What was it?” I ask, insanely curious.
“It was this photo of you,” he tells me. “Your kids were making goofy faces at the camera, and you had the most amazing smile. Your gorgeous hair was flowing around your shoulders. You were wearing a funny t-shirt — it had a bunch of monkeys on it. You looked so carefree and happy, and I thought to myself, Here’s a person I’d like to meet. I never will but I wonder what it’d be like. I wonder where she lives. How does she fill her days, and I became a bit obsessed.”
“Really?!” I say again, not believing my ears.
“I came to know what you were like, how you spent your days, and saw that you were so loved by your kids, and I fell for you a little more every day.”
