The Mister

by James, E L

  Fucking hell.

  I clench my fists, my rage murderous. She’s so still. Head bowed. Folding in on herself.

  Calm down, mate. Calm yourself.

  I take a deep cleansing breath, my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry.”

  Her head whips up. Her look direct and earnest. “You have done nothing wrong.”

  Even now she’s trying to pour oil on my troubled waters.

  The few steps between us are too great a distance. She watches me warily as I approach, and cautiously I crouch down beside her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m just shocked that somewhere out there you have a…suitor, and I have a rival for your affections.”

  She blinks rapidly, and her face softens as a rosy tinge marks her cheeks.

  “You have no rivals,” she whispers.

  My breath catches, and warmth spreads in my chest, chasing the last of the adrenaline away. These are the sweetest words that she has said to me.

  There’s hope.

  “This man, he’s not your choice?”

  “No. He is my father’s choice.”

  I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, planting one soft kiss on her knuckles.

  “I cannot go back,” she whispers. “I have dishonored my father. And if I return, I will be forced into marriage.”

  “Your…betrothed. Do you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t love him?”

  “No.” Her vehement, monosyllabic response tells me all I need to know. Perhaps he’s old. Or unattractive. Or both.

  Or he hits her.

  Fuck.

  Standing, I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, putting her hands on my chest. I fold her against my body and hold her. And I don’t know if I’m comforting her or myself. The thought of her with someone else, someone who mistreats her, is horrifying. I bury my face in her fragrant hair, grateful that she’s here. With me. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to put up with so much shit,” I murmur.

  Looking up at me, she brushes her index finger over my lips. “That is a bad word.”

  “It is. It’s a bad word for a bad situation. But you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Leaning down, I brush my lips against hers and it’s like a spark to dry kindling, my body comes alive. It takes my breath away. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, offering her mouth to me. I cannot resist. In the background, RY X is still singing in his husky, melancholy falsetto about only falling in love. It’s soulful. And rousing. And relevant.

  “Dance with me.” My voice is hoarse. Alessia gasps as I tighten my hold on her and start to sway with her in my arms. She splays her hands on my chest and glides them over my shirt, feeling me. Touching me. Reassuring me. And curling her fingers around my upper arms as she moves with me.

  Slowly.

  We shuffle from side to side to the unhurried and seductive rhythm of the ethereal song. Her hands slide up my arms and over my shoulders and into my hair. She nuzzles my chest.

  “I have never danced like this,” she murmurs.

  My hand skims down her body to the base of her spine, holding her to me. “I’ve never danced with you.”

  With my other hand, I gently tug on her plait, lifting her lips to mine. I kiss her. Long. Slow. Tasting her. Rediscovering her sweet mouth with my tongue while we sway together. I unfasten the elastic tethering her hair and slide it off. I groan as she shakes her head, and her hair falls wild and free down her back. Cradling her face, I kiss her again. I want more. So much more. I need to reclaim her. She’s with me. Not with some violent bastard from a godforsaken town a world away.

  “Come to bed,” I whisper, my voice low.

  “I have to wash the dishes.”

  What?

  “Fuck the dishes, baby.”

  Her brow furrows. “But—”

  “No, you don’t. Leave them.”

  And the thought pops into my head. If I married her—she’d never have to do another dish again.

  “Make love with me, Alessia.”

  She sucks in a breath, and an inviting, shy smile curls her lips.

  * * *

  We flow together. My hands cocoon her head as I move, slowly savoring every delectable inch of her. She is soft and strong and beautiful beneath me. I kiss her, pouring my heart and soul into her mouth. It’s never felt like this. Each stroke is bringing me closer to her. Her legs hold me in place, and her hands run over my back. Her nails etching her passion on my skin. I lean up and study her dazed face. Her eyes are wide and her pupils the darkest, most carnal espresso. I want to see her. All of her. I stop and press my forehead against hers.

  “I need to see you.” I ease out of her and roll us over so that she’s on top of me. She’s breathless and unsure. With my arm under her behind, I slide her up my body so her legs are on either side of my hips. And I sit up so she’s astride me, her arms on my shoulders. I clasp her face and kiss her. Moving my hand down to caress her breast, I deliberately tease her nipple between my thumb and finger as my lips skim from her mouth along her jaw to her throat. She tips her head back and lets out a husky moan of pure pleasure. My erection throbs in response.

  Yes.

  “Let’s try this,” I murmur against the fragrant skin of her shoulder. I wrap my arm around her waist and lift her, my eyes on hers as I lower her slowly onto me.

  Fuck.

  She’s tight. And wet. And exquisite.

  Her mouth drops open as she gasps, her eyes large with want. “Ah,” she breathes, and my lips seize hers, my fingers in her hair as I claim her mouth again.

  She’s panting and gripping my shoulders when I pull back.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  She gives me a frantic shake of her head. “Yes,” she breathes, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s reverted to the Albanian form of yes. I take her hands and lean back until I’m lying on the bed, staring at the woman astride me. The woman I love.

  Her hair spills down over her shoulders and breasts in a riotous, sensual tumble. She leans forward and spreads her hands on my chest.

  Yes. Touch me.

  She sweeps her fingers and palms over my skin. Feeling me. Through my chest hair and over my nipples, which pucker in delight.

  “Ah,” I breathe.

  She bites her lower lip, stifling her wanton, victorious smile.

  “That’s right, beautiful, I love your touch.”

  I love you.

  She leans down and kisses me. “I like touching you,” she says softly. Shyly. And my cock strains for more.

  “Take me,” I murmur.

  She pauses, not understanding, and I lift my hips to give her a clue. Alessia cries out, and it’s a loud, guttural sound of pleasure that almost pushes me over the edge. She splays her hands on my chest, trying to keep her balance. I grasp her hips. “Move. Like this,” I hiss through my teeth. I ease her up and back down. And she gasps, but, placing her hands on my arms, she rises up and back down.

  “That’s it.” I close my eyes and enjoy the sensual feel of her.

  “Ah,” she calls out.

  Shit.

  Make this last.

  She moves. Slowly and hesitantly at first. But as her confidence builds, she finds her rhythm. I open my eyes as she rises once more, and this time I flex my hips, meeting her. Her cry is visceral and wakes every sense in my body.

  Fuck. I grab her hips, moving her faster and faster. She’s panting. Short, sharp gasps for air. Gripping my arms. Her head lolling from side to side with each thrust of mine.

  Head tipped back. Calling to the gods, she’s every inch a goddess. Her hold on my arms tightens, and she cries out and stills on top of me as she comes.

  It’s enough to trigger my release, and I cry out, holding her to me as I come and come and come.
>
  * * *

  Alessia lies in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Maxim has his head on her stomach, his arms around her, as she runs her fingers idly through his hair. She loves the feel of his hair beneath her fingers. Her mother never gave any indication that the sexual act could be so pleasurable. Perhaps that is not the relationship she has with Baba. Alessia frowns. She doesn’t want to think about her parents having sex, but her mind wanders, and she remembers her grandmother, Virginia. Now, she married for love. They were happy. Even when they were older, her grandparents would exchange looks that made Alessia blush. Her nana’s was a marriage that she hoped to emulate. Not her parents’ marriage. They were never demonstrative with each other.

  Maxim never hesitates to hold her hand or kiss her in public. And he talks to her. When has she ever sat for an evening and had a proper conversation with a man? Where she comes from, if a man talks to a woman for any length of time, it is considered by some to be a sign of weakness.

  She glances at the little light-up dragon on the nightstand, a beacon in the darkness. He bought this for her because he knows she’s scared of the dark. He brought her here to protect her. He cooked for her. He bought her clothes. He made love to her….

  Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and her heart overflows with uncertainty and longing, burning her throat with unspoken emotion. She loves him. Her fingers tighten in his hair as she’s overwhelmed by her feelings for him. He wasn’t angry with her when she told him she was betrothed. If anything, he was anxious that her heart might belong to another.

  No. My heart is yours, Maxim.

  And he was shocked that she thought he might beat her. Her hand goes automatically and instinctively to her cheek; her father is less of a talker, more of a man of action….

  She runs her fingers over Maxim’s shoulder and traces the outline of his tattoo. She wants to know him better. Perhaps she should ask him more questions. He is evasive about his job. Maybe he has many? She shakes her head. It is not her place to question him. What would her mother say if she did? For now she will enjoy the little bubble that they share together in Cornwall.

  Maxim nuzzles her belly and kisses it, distracting Alessia from her unsettling thoughts of home. He looks up at her, his eyes a vibrant emerald in the soft glow from the little dragon. “Stay with me,” he says.

  She smooths his hair off his forehead and frowns. “I am staying with you.”

  “Good,” he says, and he kisses her belly again, but his time his mouth moves lower…and lower.

  * * *

  I open my eyes as early-morning light seeps through the gaps in the blinds. I’m wrapped around Alessia. My head on her chest, my arm around her waist. The warmth and sweet smell of her skin invades my senses, and my body rises to greet her. Gently I nuzzle her neck, leaving drowsy kisses at her throat.

  She rouses, her eyelids fluttering open.

  “Good morning, princess,” I whisper.

  She smiles, a sleepy, sated look on her face. “Good morning…Maxim.” Her tone is tender, and I think I hear her love in the way she says my name. Or maybe I’m imagining it because I want to hear it.

  There. I want her love.

  All of it.

  I’m prepared to admit it to myself.

  But can I admit it to her?

  The whole day extends before us, open and free—and I’m with her. “Let’s spend the day in bed.” My voice is husky with sleep.

  Her fingers skim my chin. “Are you tired?”

  I grin. “No…”

  “Oh,” she says, and her smile mirrors mine.

  * * *

  His tongue. His mouth. What he does to her. Alessia is lost in a storm of sensation. Her hands tighten on his wrists as she hangs on a precipice. She’s close. So close. He teases her again and again with his able tongue and gradually eases a finger inside her, and she falls, her orgasm ripping through her as she cries out.

  Maxim kisses her belly, her breasts, as he inches up her body and stills above her.

  “That is a fantastic sound,” he whispers, and he rolls on a condom and oh, so slowly sinks into her.

  * * *

  When I return from the bathroom, her side of the bed is empty.

  Oh.

  The disappointment is real. I’m ready for more. I don’t ever think I’ll have enough of Alessia.

  Judging by the gray light seeping into the room, it must be midmorning. And it’s raining. I raise the blinds, and then I hear her, so I scramble back into bed. Crockery rattling, she enters the bedroom. She’s wearing my pajama top and carrying breakfast on a tray. “Good morning again,” she says with a radiant smile, her hair flowing down over her shoulders.

  “Well, hello, coffee!” The aroma is mouthwatering. I love proper coffee. I sit up, and she places the tray on my lap. Eggs. Coffee. Toast. “This is a treat.”

  “You said you wanted to stay in bed.” She climbs in beside me and steals a piece of buttered toast.

  “Here.” I scoop up some scrambled eggs on a fork and offer it to her. She opens her mouth, and I feed her.

  “Mmm…” she says, and closes her eyes in appreciation.

  My dick rouses at the sight.

  Steady. Let’s eat first.

  The eggs are amazing. She’s added feta cheese, I think.

  “This is heaven on a plate, Alessia!”

  Her cheeks pink, and she takes a sip of coffee.

  “I wanted to play some music.”

  “On the piano?”

  “No—I mean, to listen.”

  “Oh. You need a phone. Here.” I reach over and grab my iPhone.

  I really must get her a phone.

  “This is the code.” I punch in my security code to unlock it. “And I use this app. Sonos. You can have music anywhere in the house.” I hand it to her.

  She starts flicking through the app. “You have so much music.”

  “I like music.”

  She shoots me a quick smile. “Me, too.”

  I take a sip of coffee.

  Ugh!

  “How much sugar did you put in this?” I splutter.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forget you don’t have the sugar.” And she screws up her face, and I think it’s because she cannot contemplate coffee without sugar.

  “Is this how you drink it?”

  “In Albania? Yes.”

  “I’m amazed you have any teeth left.”

  She grins, showing me she has perfect teeth. “I have never tried coffee without sugar. I will make you some more.” She hops out of bed, all long naked legs and flowing raven hair.

  “It’s okay. Don’t go.”

  “I want to.” And she disappears once more, taking my phone with her. A few moments later, I hear Dua Lipa singing “One Kiss” over the sound system downstairs. Alessia doesn’t just like classical music. I smile….I think the artist is Albanian, too.

  * * *

  Alessia dances around the kitchen, preparing another coffee for Maxim. She cannot remember a time when she felt this content. She came close at times when she was dancing and singing with her mother in the kitchen in Kukës. But here there is more room to dance, and with the lights on she can see her image reflected in the glass wall that leads to the balcony. She grins; she looks so happy. It’s such a contrast to when she arrived in Cornwall.

  Outside, it’s a cold and wet morning. She shimmies over to the window and stares out at the scene. The sky and sea are a dismal gray, and the wind is battering and sculpting the silvery trees that line the path to the beach, but it’s still a sight she finds magical. The surf is crashing on the shore, white-whipped and foamy, yet she can only hear the faint roar of the waves and cannot feel a draft through the glass doors. She’s impressed. The house is well built, and she’s grateful that she’s here, warm and cozy with Maxim.

&n
bsp; The espresso machine burbles, and she sashays back across the room to make his coffee.

  * * *

  Maxim is still in bed, but he’s finished his breakfast and placed the tray on the floor. “There you are. I missed you,” he says when Alessia returns with fresh, unsweetened coffee. She hands him the cup, and he drains the entire contents as she gets back into bed.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  “You like it?”

  “Very much.” He puts the coffee cup aside. “But I like you more.” He hooks his index finger over the first button of the oversize pj top that she’s wearing and tugs. The button opens, revealing the soft swell of her breast, and with his eyes burning into hers he runs his finger gently over her skin and across her nipple. Her breath catches as her nipple peaks and hardens beneath his touch.

  * * *

  Her lips part in a silent gasp, and her gaze is intense and inviting. My dick stirs.

  “Again?” I whisper.

  Will I ever have my fill of this woman?

  Alessia’s coy smile is encouragement enough. Leaning forward, I press my lips against hers and undo the rest of her buttons, and slip the pajama shirt off her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful.” My words are an invocation.

  Her eyes on mine, she raises her hand hesitantly, and her finger traces the line of my jaw, brushing my stubble. Through her parted lips, I watch as she runs her tongue across the underside of her top teeth. “Hmm…” Her voice rumbles in her throat.

  “You like it, or do you want me to shave?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head. “I like this.” Her fingertips stroke my chin.

  “You do?”

  She nods and, leaning in, plants a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth and runs her tongue over my stubble, following the line her finger took earlier. I feel it in my groin.

  “Oh, Alessia.” I grasp her face and lower us both onto the bed, kissing her as we recline. My lips are on hers, my tongue is on hers, and she’s as greedy as ever, taking all I have to give. My hand travels down her body, over her breast, her waist, and her hip, and I cup her backside and squeeze. My lips follow, worshipping her breasts in turn until she’s squirming beneath me. And when I gaze at her to catch my breath, she’s panting.