The Mister

by James, E L

  “Yes, move with me, beautiful,” I encourage her as her short, breathy gasps of pleasure spur me on.

  “Please,” she whispers, begging for more, and I willingly oblige. Sweat beads on my back as my body fights my restraint. I push and push until finally she stiffens beneath me and her fingernails dig into my flesh.

  I move once, twice…a third time, and she screams as she lets go, her cry and her climax my undoing.

  I come. Forcefully. Loudly. And calling out her name.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maxim is heavy on top of her, his breathing forced and urgent, while Alessia lies panting beneath him. She’s overwhelmed with sensation and a bone-deep fatigue, but most of all by his…invasion. She feels consumed. He shakes his head, leans up on his elbows, taking his weight off her, and clear, concerned eyes burn into hers. “Are you okay?” he says.

  She makes a mental inventory of her body. In truth she’s a little sore. She had no idea that the act of love was so physical. Her mother had told her it would hurt the first time.

  And she was right.

  But then, once her body got used to his presence, she’d enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it. At the end she’d lost all sense of self and shattered into tiny little pieces, exploding inside—and it had been…incredible.

  He eases out of her, the alien feeling making her wince. He covers them both with the duvet and, leaning on his elbow, stares down at her with concern. “You haven’t answered me. Are you okay?”

  She nods, but the narrowing of his eyes tells her that he’s not convinced.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She bites her lip, still unsure what to say, and he flops down on the bed beside her and closes his eyes.

  * * *

  Shit. I hurt her.

  I’d been transported from the depths of despair to an earth-shattering climax, but my rosy, postcoital, best-fuck-ever glow vanishes like a magician’s rabbit. I reach down and yank the condom off my dick, disgusted with myself. When I drop it on the floor, I’m shocked to see my hand smeared with blood.

  Her blood.

  Fuck.

  I rub my hand on my thigh and turn back to face the recrimination in her lovely face. But she stares at me, looking apprehensive and vulnerable.

  Bloody hell.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.” I kiss her forehead.

  “My mother said to me it would hurt. But only the first time.” She pulls the quilt up to her chin.

  “Only the first time?”

  She nods, and hope blossoms in my chest. I caress her cheek. “So you’d be willing to give it a second try?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she says, giving me a coy smile, and my cock thickens in approval.

  Again? Already?

  “Only…only if you want to,” she adds.

  “Only if I want to?” I can’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. I laugh and swoop down and kiss her. Hard. “Sweet, sweet Alessia,” I whisper against her lips. She grins up at me, and suddenly my heart thunders. I need to know. “Was it good…for you?”

  She blushes her not-so-innocent shade of pink. “Yes,” she whispers. “Especially at the end when I—”

  When you came!

  I grin, and elation radiates through my chest.

  Thank fuck!

  Her attention turns to her hands, which are still clutching the quilt, and her brow creases.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “For you,” she says quietly. “Was it good for you?”

  I laugh. “Good?” I laugh again, head held back, and I’m deliriously happy, and it’s been a while since I felt that way. “Alessia, it was exceptional. That was the best fuck…um…sex I’ve had in years.”

  Why is that?

  Her eyes widen, and she gasps in horror. “That is a bad word, Mister Maxim.” She tries to feign disapproval, but her eyes twinkle with mirth. I beam down at her and run my thumb over her bottom lip.

  “Say ‘Maxim.’ ” I want to hear my name in her provocative accent again.

  Her cheeks redden once more.

  “Say it. Say my name.”

  “Maxim,” she whispers.

  “Again.”

  “Maxim.”

  “That’s better. I think we should get you cleaned up, beautiful. I’ll run us a bath.”

  I throw off the covers and climb out of bed, and, collecting the condom from the floor, I stride into the bathroom.

  Fuck.

  I feel…

  Giddy.

  I’m a grown man, and I’m giddy!

  Sex with her is better than being amped on coke…any drug. Any day.

  I dispose of the contraceptive and turn on the taps over the bath, then add some bubble bath and watch the water turn to sweet-smelling foam. Taking one of the facecloths, I put it on the side.

  Gushing water fills the tub, and I marvel at the day’s events. I’ve finally laid my daily. Normally, once I’ve bedded a woman, I can’t wait to be alone. But that’s not how I feel today. Not with Alessia. I’m still enchanted by whatever spell she’s cast over me. And, what’s more, I get to spend this week and maybe next week with her….The prospect is exciting.

  My cock stirs in agreement.

  I glance at myself in the mirror and catch my euphoric grin, and for a moment I don’t recognize myself.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  I run my hand through my hair in an effort to tame it and remember her blood on my hand.

  A virgin.

  I’ll have to marry her now. I snort at my ridiculous thought as I wash my hands, but I wonder if any of my ancestors found themselves in that position. Two of my forebears were involved in well-documented, scandalous liaisons, but my knowledge of my family history is sketchy at best. Kit was thoroughly versed in the family’s history and lineage. He paid attention. My father made sure of that. My mother made sure of that. It was all part of Kit’s duties as heir. He knew that keeping the earldom intact meant everything to our family.

  But he’s no longer here.

  Fuck. Why didn’t I pay attention?

  The bath is full, and I wander back into the bedroom, feeling a little despondent. But the sight of Alessia staring at the ceiling lifts my spirits.

  My daily.

  Her expression is completely unreadable. She turns and sees me and immediately shuts her eyes.

  What?

  Oh, I’m naked.

  I want to laugh but decide that it’s probably not a good idea, so I lean against the doorframe, cross my arms, and patiently wait for her to open her eyes again.

  After a few moments, she pulls the bedding over her nose and peeps above it, with only one eye open.

  I grin. “Take a good look.” I spread my arms wide.

  She blinks, and her eyes shine with a combination of embarrassment, amusement, curiosity, and, I think, a little admiration. She giggles and pulls the covers over her head. “You are teasing me.” Her voice is muffled.

  “Yes, I am.” Unable to contain myself, I saunter to the bed, and her knuckles whiten as she tightens her hold on the quilt. I lean over and brush her fingers with my lips. “Let go,” I whisper, and I’m surprised when she does. I whisk off the bedding, and she squeals, but I scoop her up into my arms and stand tall. “Now we’re both naked,” I say as I nuzzle her ear. She folds her arms around my neck, and I carry her, giggling, into the bathroom and set her down beside the tub. Immediately she covers her breasts.

  “You don’t have to be shy.” I tease a strand of her hair and wind it around my index finger. “You have great hair. And a great body, too.”

  Her half smile and timid glance tell me this is what she needs to hear. I tug gently on the strand, and she leans toward me so that I’m able to kiss her forehead. “Besides, look.” With my chin I point t
o the picture window behind the bath. She turns, and her sharp intake of breath lets me know she loves the view. The window looks out over the cove, and at the horizon the sun is kissing the sea in a spectacular symphony of color: gold, opal, pink, and orange burst through the purple cloudscape and over the darkening water. It’s splendid.

  “Sa bukur.” Her voice is full of wonder. “So beautiful.” And she loosens her arms.

  “Like you,” I say, and kiss her hair. Her delicious fragrance—lavender and roses mixed with the scent of fresh sex—fills my nostrils. I close my eyes. She’s more than beautiful. She’s the whole package. Bright. Talented. Funny. And courageous. Yes, above all, courageous. My heart stutters, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed with emotion.

  Fuck.

  Swallowing hard to contain my feelings, I offer her my hand and bring her fingers to my lips. I kiss each in turn before she steps into the bath.

  “Sit.”

  She quickly twists her hair into a gravity-defying knot that perches on her head and sinks beneath the bubbles. She winces, and I feel a stab of guilt, but her face relaxes as she looks out at the mesmerizing sunset.

  I have an idea. “I’ll just be a minute.” I duck out of the bathroom.

  * * *

  The water is deep, hot, and soothing, and the bubbles have an exotic fragrance that Alessia doesn’t recognize. She examines the bottle of bath gel. It reads:

  JO MALONE

  LONDON

  ENGLISH PEAR & FREESIA

  It smells expensive.

  She leans back and stares out the window, and her body gradually unwinds.

  The view.

  Ua!

  It’s a picturesque scene. The sunset in Kukës is spectacular, but it sets behind the mountains. Here the sun is sinking languidly into the sea, illuminating a golden path on the water.

  Remembering how she stumbled in the waves earlier, she smiles. How foolish she’d been. Foolish and free for a few hours at least, and now here she is in Mister Maxim’s bathroom. It’s bigger than the en suite in the guest room—and has two sinks beneath ornate mirrors. She feels a momentary pang that Maxim’s brother, who had built the property, could no longer enjoy it. It’s a fine house.

  Catching sight of the washcloth, Alessia grabs it and gently washes between her thighs. The area is a little tender.

  She’d done it.

  It.

  On her own terms, with someone of her own choosing, someone she desires. Her mother would be shocked. Her father…She shudders to think what he might do if he knew. And she’d done it with Mister Maxim, an Englishman, he of the startling green eyes and the face of an angel. She hugs herself, recalling how gentle and considerate he’d been, and her heart beats a little faster. He’d made her body come alive. She closes her eyes and remembers his clean scent, his fingers on her skin, the softness of his hair…his kiss. His blazing eyes, full of desire. She sucks in a breath….And he wants to do it again. Her muscles tighten deep in her belly. “Ah,” she whispers. It’s a delicious feeling.

  Yes. She wants to do it again, too.

  She chuckles and hugs herself harder, trying to contain her dizzying elation. She feels no shame. This is how she’s supposed to feel. This is love, isn’t it? She grins and feels a little smug.

  Maxim reappears carrying a bottle and two glasses. He’s still naked.

  “Champagne?” he offers.

  Champagne!

  She has read about champagne. But never thought she’d experience the taste.

  “Yes, please,” she says, as she sets the washcloth aside and tries to look anywhere but at his penis.

  She’s fascinated and embarrassed at the same time.

  Large. Hooded. Flexible. Not how it was earlier.

  Her experience of male genitalia has been limited to works of art. It’s the first time she’s ever seen one in the flesh.

  “Here, hold these.” Maxim interrupts her thoughts, and a blush steals across her face. He hands her the champagne glasses and smiles down at her. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, and his eyes sparkle with humor. Alessia wonders if he was referring to the champagne…or his penis, which makes her blush even more. Tearing off the copper-colored foil, he twists the wire cage and pops off the cork with ease. He pours the bubbling liquid into the glasses. Alessia is surprised and delighted to see that it’s pink. Putting the bottle down on the windowsill, he clambers into the opposite end of the bath and carefully sinks into the water. The foam rises to the brim. He grins, waiting for the water to spill over the side of the bath—but it doesn’t. She draws up her knees as he slides his feet on either side of her.

  He takes a glass from her and clinks the one she holds. “To the bravest, most beautiful woman I know. Thank you, Alessia Demachi,” he says, and he’s no longer playful but deadly serious, gazing intently at her, his eyes darker, no longer sparkling.

  Alessia swallows in response to the pulsing deep in her belly.

  “Gëzuar, Maxim.” Her voice is husky as she raises the glass to her lips and takes a sip of the chilled liquid. It’s light and bubbly and tastes of fine summers and rich harvests. It’s delicious. “Mmm,” she murmurs in appreciation.

  “Better than beer?”

  “Yes. Much better.”

  “I thought we should celebrate. To first times.” He holds up his glass, and she does the same.

  “First times,” she says, and turns to stare out the window at the setting sun. “The champagne is the same color as the sky,” she says in wonder, and she knows that Maxim is watching her, but he, too, turns to enjoy the magnificent view.

  “So decadent,” she says, almost to herself. She’s bathing with a man, a man who is not her husband, a man she’s just had sex with for the first time ever, and she’s drinking pink champagne.

  She doesn’t even know his full name.

  A shocked giggle bubbles up from her happy place.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Your family name, is it Milord?”

  Maxim’s mouth drops open, and then he chuckles. Alessia pales a little and takes another sip.

  “I’m sorry.” He seems chastened. “That’s just a…um…No. My surname is Trevelyan.”

  “Trev-el-ee-an.” Alessia repeats it a couple of times. It’s a complicated name, for a complicated man? Alessia doesn’t know. He doesn’t seem complicated—just very different from any man she knows.

  “Hey,” Maxim says. Placing his glass on the windowsill, he grabs the soap and lathers it between his hands. “Let me wash your feet.” He holds out his hand.

  Wash my feet!

  “Let me,” he whispers when she hesitates. Setting her glass on the sill, she tentatively places her foot in his hand, and he begins to massage the soap into her skin.

  Oh.

  She closes her eyes as his strong fingers work methodically over her instep, up her heel, and around her ankle. He rubs the sole with just the right amount of pressure.

  “Ah…” she moans.

  When he reaches her toes, he washes each individually, then rinses them off, gently tugging and twisting each one. She squirms beneath the water and opens her eyes. His steady gaze holds hers and leaves her breathless.

  “Good?” he asks.

  “Yes. More than good.” She sounds hoarse.

  “Where do you feel it?”

  “Everywhere.”

  When he squeezes her little toe, all her muscles clench deep inside her. She gasps, and he raises her foot and, with a wicked smile, kisses her big toe.

  “Now the other one,” he orders in a soft voice. This time she doesn’t hesitate. His fingers work their magic once more, and by the time he’s finished, her entire body has turned to liquid. He kisses each toe in turn, except the smallest, which he puts into his mouth and sucks. Hard.

  “Ah!” H
er belly flutters. She opens her eyes to the same intense look, though now his lips are curled in a private smile. He kisses the ball of her foot.

  “Better?”

  “Mmm…” She can manage only an incoherent mumble.

  A strange need claws at her belly.

  “Good. I think we should get out before the water goes cold.” He stands and with long legs steps out of the bath. Alessia shuts her eyes. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to seeing him naked or get used to the aching, hungry sensation lingering deep, deep within her.

  “Come on,” he says. He has wrapped a towel around his waist and is offering her a navy robe. Feeling a little less shy, she stands and takes his hand as he helps her out of the bath. He envelops her in the robe, which is soft but far too big for her. She turns to face him, and he kisses her, properly, fully, his tongue exploring her mouth. His fingers at her nape, holding her, guiding her. When he releases her, she’s breathless.

  “I could kiss you all day,” he murmurs. Tiny drops of water cling to his body like dew. In her dazed state, Alessia wonders what they would taste like if she licked them off.

  What!

  She inhales sharply at her wayward thoughts.

  How wanton.

  She smiles. Perhaps she’ll get used to seeing him naked.

  “Okay?” he asks. She nods, and, taking her hand, he walks her back into the bedroom, where he releases her. He picks up his jeans from the floor and drags them on. She watches wide-eyed while he towel-dries his back.

  “Enjoying the view?” He’s smirking at her.

  Her face is suddenly warm, but she holds his gaze. “I like looking at you,” she whispers.

  His smirk transforms into a charming, sincere smile. “Well, I like looking at you, too, and I’m all yours,” he says, but his brow creases with uncertainty and he looks away. He recovers quickly and pulls on his T-shirt and sweater, then swaggers toward her and caresses her cheek, his thumb brushing the line of her jaw. “You don’t have to get dressed if you don’t want to. I’m expecting Danny with our supper.”